Gliding On Thin Ice
by pelena
Summary: When Fenton Hardy's enemy comes to Bayport one morning, the following night becomes a nightmare for some citizens of the once peaceful town.
1. chapter 1

Chapter 1  
  
"... and thanks for joining us tonight, stay with us on Radio Maximum!" a cheerful voice of a DJ and the rustle of the tires on the road were the only sounds that kept a driver awake. "Coming next...."  
  
The driver inhaled the strong smoke one last time and threw the finished cigarette out of the window. The night – or early morning to some – was chilly; raindrops were stinging the man's face as the damp air was blowing through the open window. Unpleasant as it was, he had no intention of closing the window. He had to stay up and alert.  
  
He inhaled deeply; the fresh air re-awakened him and cleared his head a little, however minutes later the feeling was gone again and he was slipping back into a drowsy state. He had had a difficult day – first escaping without being caught, then stealing the car, then restlessly driving for over six hours. Soon, he told himself when he felt like stopping and taking a nap, soon you'll get there and sleep.  
  
The dark road ahead was empty. As the man thought why, he loathed the world again. While most people were peacefully sleeping in their beds in this early hour, he had to keep himself awake. But then a bad smile crept over his face – the following night some people wouldn't be sleeping. And they'd never sleep peacefully again.  
  
Leaning back in his seat, he sped the car down when the light of the headlights lit the shiny layer ahead. It was late October, the night temperatures were low and the roads were covering with thin ice. Days later, when his plan would be successfully carried out, he would allow himself to become careless and drive as fast as he wished on whatever surface. But right now he had to make it to the place of his destination without any accidents.  
  
He mustered the last strengths that were left in his tired body. Bayport was getting near.  
  
***  
  
Fenton Hardy's eyebrows rose as he continued to watch a man on the screen who was thrashing his hands in all directions and at the same time avoid hitting any of the barely dressed girls that danced around him. The lyrics and the video seemed too revealing to Fenton's taste, but if anyone liked it... Well, his parents found the music he liked 20 years ago rather outspoken, too, but now his children called it "outmoded". What do they understand in good music?  
  
He sipped his coffee and glanced at the watch which read almost seven thirty, soon Frank would be downstairs to keep him company. As if on request, he heard soft footsteps down the stairs and moments later the dark- haired teen entered the kitchen.  
  
"Hi, Dad," he smiled. "You're up early."  
  
"Morning, Frank," the father smiled back and took another sip from his cup. "You know I rise with the lark. There's work to do."  
  
"I thought so. Anything interesting going in the world?" Frank asked. The renowned private investigator, Fenton Hardy, hardly ever had days-off with new cases landing on his desk as if from cornucopia.  
  
"Not really, once in a lifetime it's only paperwork," Fenton replied, watching his son scrutinize the contents of the fridge. "A few days of peace at home. Finally," he added, his voice trailing off. His youthful ambition for traveling and adventures fulfilled to the utmost extent, he enjoyed every minute he spent at home with his family and cursed the moment when a phone call from a client called him away. Years ago he thought he had reached the compromise between being a detective and a father and a husband, but now that he looked back he wished he'd spend more time at home. Home. How can some people underestimate the meaning of it?...  
  
"Hello? Earth to Dad?" Frank's voice snapped him off his thoughts. "Sorry, Frank, I was just thinking. What were you saying?"  
  
"Have you heard from Mom?" Frank asked. Four days ago Laura Hardy and Fenton's sister Gertrude went to Oklahoma to visit some friends of theirs.  
  
"Yeah, she called yesterday when you and Joe were already in bed," Fenton replied. "They're fine. Said they loved you and Joe."  
  
Just as Frank opened his mouth to reply the phone in the living room began to ring.  
  
"Eat your breakfast," Fenton rose from his seat, "I'll get it."  
  
Frank took the remote control and switched the channel to sports. He ate in solitude for a few minutes until he heard the shuffling steps down the corridor. Frank knew that could only be his brother who was like a grizzly in the morning. In the true sense of the word – just as clumsy and uptight. Wordlessly, Joe shuffled to the fridge.  
  
"Good morning to you, too," Frank said good-naturedly, knowing his brother's usual morning state.  
  
"Mhmmhm...." Came the reply as Joe placed his cup of coffee and a sandwich on the table.  
  
"Ready for your economics?" Frank asked.  
  
"Don't remind me!" Joe said, rubbing his eyes. He had spent the previous evening revising for his economics test and now he understood no difference between 'income' and 'disposable income'. Who cared anyway? "Can you believe it? Economics reaches steady equilibrium if aggregate demand equals volume of output on condition that planned investment equals savings!" he raped out the studied words and shook his head. "Do they really have to stuff our programme with rubbish like that?"  
  
"It's not rubbish," Frank remarked. "it's based on the model of Keynes' cross!"  
  
"Somebody, get this know-all away from me," Joe rolled his eyes, "Shall we change the subject?"  
  
Just then Fenton Hardy returned to the kitchen, his face serious. Professionally serious, Frank noted, something was up.  
  
"Oh, hi, Joe," Fenton gave his younger son a smile. "Ready for your test?"  
  
"Do you want me to tell you about inventory unplanned?" Joe offered.  
  
"Um, no, thanks, it's enough I know there is such a thing," Fenton replied with a smile, sitting down on a chair. Then his smile vanished. "Boys, there's someone I need to warn you about."  
  
"Let me guess," Frank said. "That someone is an escaped convict you put in prison years ago, but now he's out and seeking revenge."  
  
"This is becoming too habitual, isn't it?" Fenton smiled ruefully.  
  
"It is," Frank had to agree. "But don't worry, we're not becoming less careful about it."  
  
"I hope so," Fenton sighed.  
  
Both his sons were becoming good detectives for their young age, having solved several mysteries on their own and proving to be able to take care of themselves in hazardous situations. They were good and it made their father proud of their success. But good sleuths as they were, they were still Fenton's children and he was relieved that so far they were lucky to avoid any really perilous situations. Yet, it probably was only a matter of time when they would run out of their luck – and every time Fenton was informed of an escaped convict he warned Frank and Joe to be extra careful.  
  
"So, who is he?" Joe asked, watching his father with interest.  
  
"Well, to make a long story short. Yesterday Kevin Newman, thirty seven, escaped from prison in Maine where he served his sentence for torturing to death seven people. He was seen heading south and I'm afraid I know just where exactly he was heading," he said grimly. "Here is a photo of him," he handed them a printed photograph and went on, "He 'worked' in the eastern states, chose his victims at random, slowly and painfully tormented them to death and then let the police know where to find the body."  
  
Joe scrutinized the face on the photo and his eyebrows rose in surprise. The pair of smart eyes, hidden behind glasses, looked at him from the intelligent face, the man's lips were curved into a nice smile, there wasn't s single feature that could pose him as a torturer. "You're sure he's not some law-abiding scientist?" he asked, raising his eyes at his father.  
  
"Absolutely, Joe," Fenton replied seriously. "Looks can be deceiving and you know that. He's not just a torturer, I'd rather call him a human butcher. Trust me, you don't want to see what he did to those seven people."  
  
"And what did he do, by the way?" Frank asked.  
  
"He quartered his victims, starting with fingers and toes and going up to wrists and ankles, then elbows and knees and.... You got the idea. People died either from pain or loss of blood," Fenton said gravely, watching the shocked expressions on the two faces.  
  
"That's sick," Joe commented, a bad tremble going down his body at the imaginary picture of a quartered person... Now he felt sick himself.  
  
"That is. Boys.... I don't want to lose either of you to him, I still want to see my great-grandchildren. If you see him anywhere, call the police or me straight away, but don't go after him, okay? He won't have mercy on anyone."  
  
"We'll be very careful, Dad," Frank promised for both of them and looked at his brother. "You're glued to me now!" he said in his 'big brother' stern tone.  
  
"Thank heavens!! I'll go get some extra glue so you won't happen to unstick from me on my economics!" Joe beamed.  
  
Frank laughed and shook his head, "Dad, why couldn't you and Mom get me a kitty instead of a brother?"  
  
Fenton laughed, too. "I don't have a pet, I have a younger brother," he mimicked Frank's voice when the boy was 4 years old. He gave that kind of reply in kindergarten when asked if he had any pets at home, causing a burst of light-hearted laughter from other parents.  
  
Even Joe laughed at the memory, "Nasty people," he said with a grin.  
  
"Come on, pet, we're going to be late," Frank said, looking at his watch.  
  
"Dad, why is Frank always offending me?" Joe made a grimace, standing up.  
  
"Brotherly love, Joe," his father assured him, smiling. "Now, off you go. Be careful. And good luck with your test, Joe."  
  
"Thanks. Bye, Dad," Joe waved his hand, leaving the kitchen. "Speaking of my test, Frank, have I told you about multiplier yet?"  
  
Fenton smiled to himself. Twenty years ago he could think family and work were equally important. Now he knew he was a fool thinking that – his family came first to him. No end of the most knotty case could gladden him as much as hearing his children laugh; no firm handshake of a grateful client could be compared to the simple touch of the hand of his wife; no luxurious room in the most fashionable hotel could be as comfortable as his home.  
  
He rose from his seat, looked down at the dining table and all the romance evaporated, "Could have cleaned after yourselves!"  
  
***  
  
Frank pulled the van into the parking lot of Bayport High ten minutes later. Holding their backpacks over their heads, the brothers hurried to the building under the pouring rain. "Who'd have thought it I'd be running to school one day," Joe muttered inside, shaking the drops of water off his sweater.  
  
They still had a few minutes before the bell, so they gathered their friends to warn them about Newman – just in case. They had printed three more photos of him and handed them to group.  
  
"Thanks for warning," Biff glanced down at the face on the photo. "Wow, we looks like Mr. Cawthorne!" he exclaimed, referring to their geography teacher.  
  
Frank chuckled. "There's no proof he's in Bayport...." He said, becoming serious again.  
  
"He is! I saw him upstairs!" Biff interrupted, causing another burst of laughter; but seeing Frank's face, waved his hand, "go on, Frank. And sorry, I know it's serious."  
  
"He is insane!" Tony commented when Frank briefly told them about the man's doings. "I hope he's caught before he gets to Bayport."  
  
"If you see him anywhere, call the police," Joe said. "Or Dad. I guess he's already working on this, so soon Bayport will become a quiet and peaceful town again."  
  
"Quiet and peaceful Bayport? With the Hardys living here?" Chet grinned. "Who are you kidding? I think it's become the world's center of criminality!"  
  
Frank laughed with the others. "Be watchful," he said.  
  
The bell rang and they deserted to their classes. 


	2. chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
"I flunked!" Joe repeated, crossing his arms across his chest. "Do you understand what it means??"  
  
"No need to shout," Frank replied and pulled the van onto the main road. "Yes, I understand. It means that you flunked."  
  
"No, it means that Mom and Dad are going to kill me," Joe said. "If I ever say I'm going into business study, please, remind me of this shameful day and talk me out of it."  
  
"I will," Frank promised and smiled to himself. It was Joe's typical behavior after a test – saying he failed it miserably. He thought it was his way of calling down luck or whatever, because in the end Joe's test results were always good. Not excellent like Frank's – Joe just never had his brother's patience to sit down and understand and remember every detail to be a straight A student. When needed, however, he could easily compose himself and come up with the right answer during a test.  
  
"What a weather, huh?" Joe changed the topic, a wry expression on his face as he looked out of the window. "I wish it stopped raining and started snowing. We've had enough of this wet rubbish from above."  
  
"Strange to hear it from you," Frank replied. "I thought you weren't fond of winter."  
  
"I'm not, you know I'd rather live somewhere always warm and sunny, but if you get to choose between rain and snow – don't know about you, but snow's better with me."  
  
"Same here," Frank nodded. "Don't worry, winter's already coming. Just two more weeks or so and I'll throw a snowball at ya!"  
  
"I can hardly wait," Joe said mockingly.  
  
Frank poked a tongue at him and halted the car in the driveway of their house. The brothers climbed out of the car and went to the house, avoiding puddles on their way.  
  
"Dad must have left somewhere," Frank said, judging by the darkness and silence of the house.  
  
"The Chief, probably, to talk about that Newman" Joe suggested, following his brother into the kitchen. "Hope they catch him in no time."  
  
"I hope so, too," Frank replied.  
  
After dinner the brothers went upstairs to their room and started their homework. Frank was finishing his chemistry when the phone in the living room began to ring. "I'll answer!" he shouted to his brother and descended down the stairs.  
  
"Hardy residence," he said into the receiver.  
  
"Hello?" a female voice asked, slightly wavering. "Frank?"  
  
"Yes, who's speaking?" Frank asked, frowning. The voice sounded familiar, something in it indicated the caller was in trouble.  
  
"This is Mrs. Morton," the woman replied. "Frank, is Chet with you?"  
  
"No, he's not," Frank sat down on the sofa, still frowning. "Why?"  
  
"He hasn't come home from school yet," Mrs. Morton explained. "I tried calling him on his cell phone, but he's not answering. I called all his friends, but no one knows where he is," her voice was quivering with worry as she spoke. "I-I just don't know what to think...."  
  
"Last time I saw him was after school," Frank said, now having a bad feeling in his stomach. "He said he'd catch a taxi to go to the mall to buy something...."  
  
"Yes, he was going to buy some fertilizers there," Mrs. Morton explained.  
  
Should have offered to take him there and then drop him off at home, Frank thought to himself; Chet's car broke down and was being repaired at the moment, so he either used his father's sedan or had to catch a taxi. "I'm sure he's fine, don't worry," Frank tried to comfort the woman. "He must have met some friends of his and lost track of time...." He hated himself for lying like that. Chet would never forget to call his parents if he was running late – not after his sister's death more than a year ago.  
  
"Frank, I'm just so worried," Frank could tell the woman was close to tears. "I'm sorry for bothering you....but could you...."  
  
"Sure," Frank instantly agreed. "I'll go get Joe and we'll go look for him."  
  
"Thank you, Frank. I'm sorry for asking, but I wanted to stay home in case he returned or called..."  
  
"Of course. Don't worry, we'll find him," Frank tried to comfort her. "Everything is going to be alright."  
  
The byed and Frank put the receiver down. The situation was not good. Chet knew his parents had had enough a year ago losing one child and he did his best not to cause them to worry about him now, knowing how much it meant to them. Frank dialed his friend's mobile phone number, but 'the subscriber was unavailable'. He hurried upstairs to get Joe.  
  
***  
  
"A penny for your thoughts?" Frank broke the silence.  
  
Joe hadn't said a single word ever since they started their ride to the mall, he was staring out of the window with an unreadable expression on his face. Frank had a pretty good idea what was on his mind, but he wanted to get his brother to open to him If anything – Frank swallowed at the thought – happened to Chet, he was very afraid it would drive his brother even into a further withdrawal than after Iola's death.  
  
Joe sighed, "I don't know, Frank. I was just thinking about Chet and...." He fell silent again, his eyes fixed on his hands.  
  
"And?" Frank coaxed when the silence dragged on.  
  
"And Iola," Joe finished quietly. "Not that I was thinking about the trouble he could end up in. Maybe he's fine, just stuck somewhere and there's something wrong with his cell phone or something. But.... I just can't explain it...."  
  
Joe stopped again and Frank's ray of hope that they would find Chet safe and sound soon grew dimmer. "A bad feeling?" he asked. At Joe's nod, he felt a knot in his stomach.  
  
There were things he knew he could trust even if there was no solid proof for their existence. Things like Joe's intuition. Or the fact that his 'bad feelings' only on the odd occasion turned out to be wrong.  
  
Now it was his time to fall silent. He had opened his mouth to reply to his brother, but he couldn't come up with an answer.  
  
"Frank," Joe broke the silence himself, "this time it's really bad...."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Joe bit his lips before replying, "It's like....like it's not only about Chet..."  
  
"Look," Frank stopped him before Joe could go on, "I trust you, you know it. But...let's not think such things."  
  
"You're right," Joe nodded and then sighed heavily. "Forget it, I'm just being paranoid."  
  
Forget it, Frank chuckled to himself. No way, he wasn't letting Joe out of his sight now. He pulled the van into the parking lot of the mall and stopped. The brothers climbed out of the car and went to the flower-shop Chet should have shopped at.  
  
"Yes, he was here earlier," nodded the man behind the counter. "He bought a sack of fertilizers," he told them. "We talked for about five minutes, then he left, saying he was needed at home."  
  
"Was he alone? Did you see anyone following him?" Frank asked.  
  
"Yes, he was alone. No, I didn't see anyone after him," the cashier said and turned to serve a customer.  
  
Crestfallen, the brothers left. They visited a few more shops Chet could have gone to and talked to several teens from their school who were at the mall, but no one had seen Chet.  
  
"Well, if anything happened to him here," Frank mused, looking around the spacious building, "then somebody would notice and inform the police and we'd already know his whereabouts, right?"  
  
"Right," Joe nodded. "But apparently he's not here."  
  
"Apparently," Frank sighed. "What do we do now?"  
  
Joe looked at the exit, irresolute. It was pointless continuing to look for Chet in the mall, so they should have left to check other places. But this feeling that was gnawing at him – a feeling that it was also pointless continuing to look for Chet in other places they thought he might be at. But at the same time they had to do something to find him.  
  
"Any suggestions?" Frank looked at his quiet brother.  
  
A pair of worried eyes looked back at him. "Call the police," Joe replied quietly. "That's the best thing we can do now."  
  
Frank sighed, admitting Joe was probably right. There weren't many places in Bayport where Chet could be, but if something really happened to him they would just be wasting their – and his – time, searching in wrong places. "You're right," he said and reached into his pocket. "Agh, I left the cell phone in the van."  
  
They left the mall and headed toward their van. Twilight was falling on Bayport, leaving the clouded skies dark-grey-bluish. It had started to drizzle and the leaves rustled in the chilly wind, but Frank thought he'd heard something else through the rustle – soft steps following them. He turned his head to see if his was right and.....  
  
The last thing he saw before blackening out was a fist aimed at his face. 


	3. chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Frank rose to his shaky feet and looked around, narrowing his eyes against the lights of the mall and street lamps that seemed blindingly bright after the darkness of nowhere. His mind was still very hazy; the loud buzz in his head wouldn't let him concentrate and remember what had happened prior to his waking up on the wet asphalt of the parking lot, shivering from cold.  
  
He put his cold shaking hand on his wet forehead, wishing there was somebody who could tell him what had happened. Suddenly his eyes widened, "Joe?" he called, turning around.  
  
Several people were walking to their cars a little way away from him, but Joe was nowhere to be seen. "Joe?" Frank called louder, forgetting about his headache and shiver and frantically looking around. They were walking to the van when that man hit him.... "Joe, where are you?" Frank shouted.  
  
He was frenetically rushing through the rows of cars, searching for Joe and calling out his name, but the only man to hear his cries was a young police officer.  
  
"Frank? Is that you?"  
  
Frank's heart leapt in hope, but then his spirits feel once again when he saw the speaker, "Jack...." Jack Wilson was an acquaintance of the brothers from the Bayport Police, they met him a few times when working on a case.  
  
"What happened?" Jack asked.  
  
"I can't find Joe!" Frank replied, barely able to keep his emotions under control. He briefly told Jack about what had happened.  
  
"Are you okay?" at Frank's nod, the officer took out his walkie-talkie. "Why hasn't anybody seen the attack?" he murmured and then started to talk someone on the other end.  
  
Frank was watching Jack while he talked, anxiety taking the best of him. Joe could have been somewhere here, unconscious or hurt. He looked around the half-empty parking lot again, when he saw no sign of his brother, a chill ran down his spine. He didn't know whether it was from the cold that was making him shiver or from the fear that was creeping into him.  
  
"...it's not only about Chet," he heard Joe's voice in his ears again. "Oh man...." He had completely forgotten about Chet. Frank covered his eyes with his hands, feeling his head get heavy with a bad anticipation. Could his and Joe's disappearances be connected?  
  
"Frank, you okay?" Jack asked, watching the teen.  
  
"No!" Frank replied rather sharply. Seeing the surprised expression on the officer's face, he apologized, "Sorry, Jack. I... I'm just worried."  
  
"The police is on its way," Jack told him. "And security officers of the mall that survey the parking lot are already checking the tapes. We'll find him."  
  
Frank only sniffed, finding no words to reply to that. If he had been more attentive he would have found out that they had been followed and nothing would have happened. He hated thinking about 'would have-s' and 'should have-s', but he just couldn't get rid of this feeling of guilt – if anything happened to Joe he wouldn't forgive himself.  
  
"You're all soaked through," Jack said. "Why don't we go inside? You don't want to catch a cold in this weather."  
  
Glumly admitting he could do nothing at the moment, Frank allowed to lead himself into the building. They were on their way to the mall when a car literally flew into the parking lot and before it halted two people emerged from it. Frank recognized them as Fenton Hardy and Chief Collig, they both ran to him.  
  
"I was there when the Chief was called. What happened?" was the first question Fenton asked. "Are you alright?"  
  
Frank nodded, "Dad... Joe.... I fell and when I came to he was gone. I.... I don't know where he is...." His voice was wavering with guilt, fear and pain.  
  
A look of terror flashed across Fenton's face, "Frank, what happened?"  
  
Barely able to keep his composure, Frank re-told him the story, starting from the call and ending with waking up. "I never got the chance to look at him, when I turned my head to see he just knocked me out and...." He swallowed and put his face into his hands. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I should have..."  
  
"It's alright, Frank," his father hurried to assure him and put his hands on Frank's shoulders. "How do you feel? Does your head hurt?  
  
"Maybe you should see a doctor?" Chief Collig asked.  
  
"What I need is to know where Joe is," Frank replied.  
  
"Let's go watch the surveillance tapes then?" Collig offered.  
  
~~  
  
A few minutes later they entered a spacious room where security officers were watching the activity inside and outside the mall: there were people on the numerous screens, strolling in and out of shops, ordering at fast food restaurants, sitting on benches, walking from and to their cars. Most of the visitors were teens, hanging out with their friends; Frank even recognized a few people from school.  
  
One of the officers rose from his seat and went to the three. "Good evening, I'm officer Coyle," he introduced himself, shaking hands with them all. His eyes stopped on Frank, "I'm sorry we didn't notice anything on the screen."  
  
Frank wondered how he could recognize him if he hadn't noticed anything on his screen, but nodded his head in accepting the apologize – the man's tone was genuine.  
  
"How come no one has seen the attack?" Fenton Hardy demanded, his voice hard.  
  
"The place of the accident was rather far away from the camera and was shadowy," the officer explained and beckoned them to follow him. "Let me show you the tape. But the picture's not too good – dark and indistinct."  
  
He led them to one of the monitors and inserted a videotape into a VCR, Collig, Fenton and Frank came to stand behind him. Officer Coyle pressed some buttons and the screen sprang to life. It showed the parking lot where only cars stood in the dim light of the street lights. A few seconds later two dark figures appeared from the bottom of the monitor, Frank recognized them as himself and Joe. He looked fixedly at what happened next – one of the shadows moved a started after them.  
  
"The picture is not too good, indeed," Collig muttered, watching the upper left corner of the screen.  
  
Frank felt as he was hit again when he saw himself turn around and get the blow into his face before he had a chance to react. His eyes moved to his brother now. Joe, turning around, was already clenching his hand into a fist, but the man was quicker. A second later the attacker lifted him off the ground and blended with the shadows again.  
  
Fenton had to admit it would be hard to notice the attack, yet it couldn't justify the officer – they were hired to make sure nothing happened to visitors in whatever conditions after all!  
  
Frank was still dumbly looking at the screen, where he started to show signs of life. Why hadn't they parked in another place? If they...  
  
"Frank, what about Chet?" his father's voice snapped him off his dismal thoughts.  
  
"He should have been here three or so hours ago," Frank replied, gently touching his aching chin. Chet. Why hadn't they offered Chet a ride?  
  
Officer Coyle readily offered them to view other tapes made earlier. They had to watch four tapes, made from different cameras, until they finally saw the stout figure of Chet Morton crossing the parking lot. At the farthest corner of the monitor he passed a dark sedan when a man stepped out of it. He came to Chet who nodded and lowered his head as if to look at his watch. The next moment the man hit the teen in the face with his fist and Chet fell. The man looked around to check if anyone saw, but no one was around, the picked up the body and carried him to the sedan. Moments later they were gone.  
  
"A few seconds back," Collig told officer Coyle. "His face was turned to the camera for a second."  
  
The officer rewound the tape to the moment when the man looked round.  
  
"Can you zoom?" Fenton asked.  
  
"I can, but I doubt the picture will be clear enough," officer Coyle said and rewound the tape again. He clicked 'pause' at the moment the attacker's face was turned to the camera. He zoomed in, but as he had predicted the picture was blurry. All they could distinguish was dark hair and...  
  
"Isn't it glasses?" Frank said and pointed his finger at scarcely visible thin round lines around the man's eyes, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
The other three leaned down to see better. "Looks like it," the Chief had to admit.  
  
Fenton retrieved a sheet of paper from his pocket, Frank recognized it as a printed photo of Newman. His heart stopped for a second when his father compared the picture to the blurry face on the screen. The resemblance was scary.  
  
Frank saw the knuckles on his father face become white as he gripped the photo in his hand. "Show me the car!" he snarled, not caring to keep his emotions under control.  
  
Without saying a word, officer Coyle hit some buttons and the sedan came into view. The car stood in the shadowed place, so they could only see that it was of dark color. It stood too far away from the camera to distinguish the number on the plate.  
  
"Blast it!" Fenton Hardy hissed in frustration.  
  
"I'll make sure they are found, Fenton," Chief Collig said.  
  
"They will be found in three days," he snapped. "But we must find them as soon as possible before that psycho has a chance to touch a hair on my son's head.... I'll kill him if he does, I swear I will..."  
  
Frank felt dread creep into him as the reality of the happening was sinking into his head. Newman, that ruthless murderer, a human butcher as his father had called him, had his brother and his friend.  
  
"I don't get it. Why would he need the both of them?" Collig mused, confused. "Newman never...erm..." he paused, searching for the right word, "he never had two people at a time. What is he up to?"  
  
"I don't know," Fenton Hardy replied, his voice hard, "but Ezra, I want you to do the impossible to find them both before he even starts whatever he's planning for them."  
  
The Chief nodded without saying anything, knowing no words would make either Fenton or Frank feel easier. 


	4. chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
"You're beginning to scare me! Please, wake up at last!"  
  
The pulsating waves of the leaden ocean was rolling onto him; the more he tried to fight the icy breakers, the deeper he was sinking, having no strengths left to struggle with the overwhelming heaviness. His body felt so weak and cold, his head so weighty, the grip on his shoulders so tight...  
  
The grip on his shoulders?  
  
It wasn't the waves rocking him roughly, it was the hands that shook his so violently that every unevenness under his back felt painful.  
  
"You'll wake up, Hardy!" there was a threatening note to the voice. "Do you hear me?"  
  
Joe heard. The voice was coming from somewhere above him, it echoed excruciatingly in his buzzing head and he wished for the man to stop shouting so loud. What he wanted to say like "stop yelling at me" came only as a moan as he tried to speak.  
  
"Come on, buddy," the voice suddenly sounded a lot happier. "Open your eyes!"  
  
Having no idea what was going on and why he felt so weak as if he'd run into a brick wall, Joe made an attempt of opening his eyes, but the moment the bright light hit his eyes, he snapped them back shut, feeling the already unbearable headache double.  
  
"Come on! Joe, please, I need to know that you're alright!" the voice urged, a note of desperateness in it.  
  
Joe started to blink rapidly as he forced himself to open his heavy eyelids at last. When his vision adjusted, he saw a dark round face above him on a badly lit background.  
  
"Who are you?" Joe managed in a throaty voice.  
  
"Here we go," the man above him sniggered. "He sure hit you good. Chet Morton, remember me? How do you feel?"  
  
Joe stared perplexedly at him for a few moments. "Hey, Chet," he said finally. "I'm...I'm okay. I guess."  
  
"Doesn't look like it, but I hope so," Chet muttered under his breath and reached out his hand, "Come on, I'll help you sit up."  
  
Joe took the hand that pulled him into a sitting position and looked around. His vision was blurry and the picture was spinning before his eyes, but he could distinguish a bulb that hung from the ceiling, dimly illuminating a dirty floor and bared walls. The teen knitted his eyebrows, "What is it?"  
  
"Looks like a basement, but I don't know for sure," Chet replied. "Not a snug place, huh?"  
  
Joe had to agree. The room looked decrepit and somber and the dim light of the small bulb made the oppressive feeling grow. There was no furniture other than a shabby armchair that stood in a corner under a small broken window. The already chilly air of the basement was getting colder with each gust of the chilly autumn wind through the gap and the grey concrete walls with damp patches seemingly lowered the temperature even more.  
  
"Definitely not," Joe replied and shook his head to get rid of dizziness. His head still hurt, but at least his vision wasn't so fuzzy. "How did we end up here?" he asked, taking Chet's outstretched hand and rising to his unsteady feet from the coarse wooden floor, "Oh my head..." he complained, massaging his temples.  
  
"You have a very nice bruise there and there," Chet said, pointing at Joe's chin and forehead. "No wonder you were out for such a long time. I actually started to think it was something really serious."  
  
"I hope it's not," Joe said, rubbing his eyes which hurt – and it wasn't a good sign. Then he looked at his friend again. "Chet, what's going on? Why are we here? Where are we? And why are both of us here?"  
  
"So many questions," Chet chuckled somewhat ruefully and sighed. "I don't know, Joe, where we are, but I have a very bad suspicion why we're here, however I hope I'm wrong," he said seriously. "That guy didn't tell me anything, either."  
  
"What guy?"  
  
"I better tell you everything in order. And you better sit down, you look as if you're about to fall and if you do you'll knock your head again," Chet had Joe seated onto the chair that squeaked under his weight and sat on the dirty floor himself. "Remember I told you this morning that I needed to buy some fertilizers?"  
  
A nod sent painful sensation within Joe's head and he put his hands on his temples.  
  
"So," Chet went on, "that done, I was walking to catch a taxi when that guy came up to me and asked the time. I lowered my head to look at the watch when – bang! He knocked me flat. And then I woke up here."  
  
Involuntarily Joe looked at his friend's face and saw that his jaw was a bit swollen. "Hey!" he suddenly brightened. "I found you! Frank said your Mom said you were late and weren't answering her calls.... Frank. Wait! Where's Frank?"  
  
"Not here. I hope."  
  
"Chet, I don't understand anything," Joe shook his head in dismay.  
  
"Mom asked you to go look for me, right?" Chet asked with sadness in his voice.  
  
"Yeah," Joe replied after a pause and scratched his forehead. "Yeah! I and Frank went to the mall, but you weren't there and we were walking back to the van when that man first knocked Frank out, then struck me... If I am here, where is Frank?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted in one line.  
  
"I hope he's not somewhere here," Chet replied dismally.  
  
"Why? Chet, what's going on? We were kidnapped, right?"  
  
Chet sighed, "Apparently. Otherwise the door would have been open."  
  
"Did you see him?"  
  
Chet nodded, "When he brought you here and dropped you onto the floor, I had a good look at him. He looked exactly like the man on the photo you and Frank had shown us this morning."  
  
All the color drained from Joe's already pale face. "You sure?" he asked, a tight knot tying itself in his stomach.  
  
"Joe, if what your Dad said that madman had done is true...." Chet didn't go on, feeling his heart sink into his boots.  
  
Silence filled the air as Joe was letting the news sink into his head. Chet watched him, a hopeful expression on his face. He had already tried to break the lock, to knock the door out, checked the window – it was too small even for a small child, besides bared from outside – but all in vain. It was Joe, not Chet, who was a detective, his father had taught him a lot of things, he had to think of something to get them out of here. Alive and in one piece.  
  
Without saying a word, Joe stood to his feet, waited a moment till dizziness passed, "We gotta get out of here," he said, his voice collected. "Whatever it takes, we gotta get out here! And quick!"  
  
"I tried the door, but it didn't give," Chet rose from the floor. "But maybe between the two of us we'll have more luck?"  
  
Joe nodded and walked to the black metal door, "Do you think he's somewhere near?" he asked Chet, kneeling down to examine the lock.  
  
"I don't know," Chet replied. "So, what's with the lock?"  
  
"Nothing good," Joe stood up and checked his pockets – empty. "If I had a pick or something I could try, but there's nothing I can do with bare hands." His eyes studied the door frame and his face grew gloomy. "It opens inwards! There's no way to break it from inside!"  
  
Despair started to take the best of him as he looked around the room. There was no other way of escaping other than through the door which they wouldn't be able to break.  
  
"What's behind the window?" he asked, his voice strained. If they didn't find a way out – Joe refused to think about what would happen next. It couldn't happen!  
  
"Trees," Chet replied, now getting as nervous as Joe. "Joe, it's too small even for you."  
  
"I noticed," Joe replied rather sharply. He came to see what was behind the window, narrowing his eyes against the wind that blew into his face. "I can't see anything, it's too dark outside... Do you think if we shout anyone will hear?" Joe inhaled deeply and screamed at the top of his lungs, "HELP!! Anyone out there?? HELP!!!"  
  
He was joined by Chet and together they kept on shouting for a few minutes until they stopped to catch their breaths.  
  
"Any luck?" asked a sudden voice from behind.  
  
Joe's heart gave a jump inside at the suddenness of it. He span around to see the speaker and all his hope that it could be their savior tumbled down. In the doorframe stood the man he was afraid to see.  
  
"You can scream and shout," Newman adjusted the glasses on his nose and smiled; Joe felt astounded at how friendly could a smile look and how eyes could remain icy, "but the only person to hear you will be me."  
  
As is by chance, he moved a knife in his hand, making the blade shine coldly in the dim light. Not the most serious weapon, Joe thought to himself. There were two of them against Newman, the door was open. If he could give Chet a hint...  
  
"But if I were you," the man went on in a calm, even tone, as if they were discussing the weather, "I'd save my voice for later. I'll give you a chance to use it soon."  
  
Joe wanted to snap at him, but couldn't bring himself to it. Had Chet not been in the room, he wouldn't hold his tongue. Joe looked at his friend, then turned back to Newman, his eyes stopping at the door for a second, hoping Chet understood.  
  
Newman reached into his pocket and retrieved a rope from it. "Hey you," he nodded at Chet. "Take it. And no tricks!"  
  
Chet glanced at Joe, who barely noticeably nodded, and reached out his arm to get the rope. Losing no time, Joe clenched his right hand into a fist and, taking aim at the man's jaw...  
  
To his utter astonishment, Newman had a great reaction. Before Joe's fist could reach the target, he jumped aside and caught Joe's wrist in a vice grip. In the blink of an eye, Joe found himself in half-leaning position, his right arm twisted behind his back and a thin blade on his neck.  
  
Chet froze, afraid to breathe.  
  
"I recognize daddy's tricks," Newman said derisively to Joe and pulled his arm even higher, making the teen clench his teeth in pain. "You know, you only hadn't announced on the radio what you were up to."  
  
Joe saw the world darken in front of his eyes, but he uttered no sound.  
  
"Let him go," Chet said, his voice wavering slightly.  
  
"What a friend!" Newman replied. "Why don't you do me a favor – take the rope and tie his hands up? Who knows what I can do to him if you don't?" Joe felt the blade start to pierce the thin skin...  
  
Chet winced, but nodded. The next second Joe was let go, his left hand checking the thin red line on his neck; he couldn't feel his right arm at all.  
  
Newman handed the rope Chet humbly took, "Be quick."  
  
Chet swallowed as he walked behind Joe and started to tie his wrists up, "Sorry," he muttered.  
  
Joe opened his mouth to reply, but Newman interrupted him, "I just thought, why don't we make it easier?"  
  
Joe raised his head to see what the man was planning and the next second a powerful blow knocked him out. 


	5. chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
"Where are we going now?" Frank asked, making himself comfortable on the passenger's seat of the brothers' van. They had done and learnt everything could from the security officers, so Fenton suggested they leave.  
  
"Home," Fenton answered, already anticipating what was coming next.  
  
Frank looked at him with surprise in his eyes, "Home? Why? What we going to do there?"  
  
"There you are going to change into dry and warm clothes, because you're all soaked through after lying on the cold ground under the rain. And then you're going to take medicine so not to fall sick," Fenton pulled the van out of the parking lot and onto the road and started toward Elm street.  
  
Frank felt words fail him. Undoubtedly, changing into dry clothes was needed, but this could wait. "Joe and Chet are more important now!" he said to his father after a pause.  
  
"The three of you are equally important to me now and so is your safety," Fenton replied. "Frank, I know you're going to protest...."  
  
"Of course I am going to protest!" Frank interrupted him, knowing what he was going to say. "I am not going to sit and wait for the situation to be solved on its own!"  
  
"It's not going to be solved on its own and I'll make sure of that! I just hope that you'll understand how much knowing that you're safe at home means to me right now, when Newman is not only somewhere around, but already has your brother and Chet."  
  
"Well, first of all, I can be safe being where you are and helping you look for them," Frank argued firmly. "And secondly, I can take care of myself and make sure nothing happens to me!"  
  
"Isn't it what Joe's always saying?" Fenton asked quietly.  
  
Silence fell between them. Frank opened his mouth to argue, but the closed it, having to agree with his father unreservedly. Joe indeed was always saying that – where was he now?  
  
"But-but Dad," Frank finally said, calmer and quieter. "Dad, I can't sit at home and wait. I-I'll go mad if I do! I want to help."  
  
"You are going to help! Listen to me. After I drop you off at home, I'll have to leave – I'll take some things and go to work on this with Collig, we have to draw a plan of action. But there's something you can do for me. I'll give you the files on Newman's victims. If you want, you can call your friends and work together, if their parents agree to let them come. It's all going to be new to you, so maybe you'll notice something important that seems nothing serious to me – something that'll tell us where to search for Joe and Chet."  
  
Frank thought for a moment. This, of course, was better than nothing. But they had to seek out, not think of where to look for them.  
  
"Agree?"  
  
"Do I have a choice?"  
  
Fenton sighed, "Frank, don't be mad at me. It's enough he has two of them, I don't want anything to happen to you, too."  
  
"I understand, Dad," Frank said. "But I'd rather be looking for them."  
  
"Without a good idea where to look you're just going to waste your time."  
  
Frank fell silent, thinking. There should be something they could do to rescue Joe and Chet before it's too late. He sighed, "This is just so crazy," he said, lowering his head. "So stupid and unfair."  
  
Fenton put a hand on his shoulder, his eyes still on the road. "We'll get through this," he said. Laconically, lamely – he knew. But he couldn't say anything else. To tell Frank it's going to be alright – he couldn't promise it; to face the truth would mean giving up....  
  
Frank found no words to reply to that. He sighed and looked out of the window at the row of accurate houses that flew past them as they continued to ride in silence. The first raindrops hit the windscreen, soon the storm would break. Frank felt gloomier at the thought. Wherever Joe and Chet were, he prayed they weren't cold and wet.... However would it matter if they were in agony?.... Frank threw his head back and closed his eyes, hoping his father wouldn't notice tears in his eyes.  
  
The house stood dark and gloomy in the rain, and Frank was glad to find himself inside. But despite of the light from the lamps and warmth, he still couldn't shake off the feeling of how cold and oppressive the emptiness without Joe was.  
  
Fenton went to his study while Frank went upstairs to change into dry and warm clothes. He deliberately avoided looking at the door that led to his brother's room for he knew it would tear him apart and minutes later came back downstairs into the living room. Sighing, the teen picked up the phone and called Phil. He hated to do this, but without anyone he'd drive himself mad in the empty house, thinking about Joe.  
  
"What??" Phil exclaimed at the news. "Both of them? Oh my...." No sound came from the other side of the line for a few moments. "Frank.... How are you holding up?"  
  
"Am I really?" Frank chuckled bitterly. He didn't have the heart to ask him to come over and help him read the files on Newman's victims.  
  
"Do you want me and the other guys to come?" Phil asked, as if reading his mind.  
  
"I'd really appreciate it," Frank replied, grateful he didn't have to say it out loud.  
  
"We'll be there ASAP, hold on there," Phil said and hung up.  
  
Frank out the received down the moment his father went out of his study with a pile of folders in his hands, "I'm going away now," he said to his son. "You called anyone?"  
  
Frank nodded, "They'll be here in no time."  
  
"Good. Turn the alarm on, okay? And be careful," Fenton said, looking him in the eyes. "I know you can take care of yourself, but still.... Call me if anything, okay?"  
  
"You too," Frank said, watching him put on his coat. "When will you be back?"  
  
"I don't know," his father replied. "As soon as we come up with an idea, I guess."  
  
"Find them," Frank asked.  
  
Instead of answering, Fenton just pulled him into a hug, patted him on a shoulder and disappeared into the night. Suddenly Frank felt very alone in helpless, standing in a big, quiet and empty house. And it scared him. Joe was the main source of noise here; if anything happened to him, depressing silence would settle in....  
  
"Come back to us," he pleaded into the quietness. "Alive. And in one piece," he added, staggered by how a common saying sent chills down his spine.  
  
A few minutes later the doorbell went off. Biff stood close to the door, under the overhang, a heavy shower on the background.  
  
"Phil called," he said, coming inside and taking his damp coat off. "The other guys should be here in moments. How are you, buddy?"  
  
Frank shuddered his shoulders, sighing. "Want tea or something?" he offered to change the subject.  
  
Tony and Phil arrived five minutes later and joined the two in the living room where Frank told them about the day's events.  
  
"Oh man," Tony muttered when Frank had finished. "They're in huge trouble, aren't they? But the police is attached to this, right?"  
  
"The problem is," Frank said, lowering his head, "that it's too dark to send officers to search for them. Besides, it's stormy," as to prove himself right, he glanced out of the window where jets of rainwater were rolling down the glass. "Dad and the Chief are 'drawing a plan of action' now," he finished, annoyance and despair in his voice.  
  
"But we can't waste time, can we?" Phil asked quietly, watching Frank with horror in his eyes. "Because they don't have it, do they?"  
  
"How much time has passed since they were kidnapped?" Biff asked.  
  
Frank looked at his watch which read 8 in the evening, "3 and 1.5 hours accordingly," he said, his voice wavering. There hours were more than enough to cut their fingers off....  
  
"Frank?" Tony called, knowing what was on his mind. "Did anyone ever manage to escape from him?"  
  
Frank shook his head, leaning back in his armchair, "No one."  
  
What seemed scary was turning into terrifying now. The four sat in silence, in awe-stuck state of minds for a few moments before Tony finally spoke, "But we're not going to sit like this, are we? Frank, what does your father always say about the most precise criminals?"  
  
"They make mistakes anyway," Frank replied, a barely visible smile on his face. What had he done to deserve his friends? "Dad wants us to look through the files on Newman's...victims...to see if we can spot anything that can lead us to where he is keeping Joe and Chet."  
  
"What are we waiting for, then?" Biff asked.  
  
"I'll bring them," Frank stood up from his place. On his way to his father's study he couldn't stop the inner voice that was screaming at him inside – "how much time have you already lost??".... 


	6. chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
"...got to make sure you don't escape," the hissing voice was getting more distinct as Joe was coming to his senses.  
  
He had first heard it a minute or so ago when the weightlessness of nowhere was replaced by the heaviness of reality. His mind was too hazy to allow him to think about what was going on around him, who the speaker was or what his words meant.  
  
"I could have done it with a knife...say, like this..." the cold chuckle was followed by a weak protesting "no".  
  
Joe strained his hearing. Were there two people nearby? The first person sounded somewhat derisive and threatening while the other speaker seemed afraid. The pulsating throbbing in Joe's head wouldn't let him collect his strengths to open his eyes and see what was happening.  
  
"Once I'm back no one is going to come and save you."  
  
"I hope you're not back!" snapped the weaker voice.  
  
"Playing bold spirit, aren't we?"  
  
Impossible as it seemed to him, Joe forced his heavy eyelids to open. Either the pain was really blinding or he was in complete darkness. He looked around, but the surroundings were dissolving in a whirl of dark colors. Joe blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his foggy vision, but the surroundings still didn't come into focus.  
  
"When the morning comes you won't be this brave."  
  
"Go to hell!" the other person said it composedly, but there were fearful notes to his voice.  
  
The voices were coming from very near, Joe just had to stand up and go there. But as he tried to move, he felt pressure on his wrists and ankles that wouldn't let him move his hands and legs. He looked down and narrowed his eyes, his vision steadied and he made out the outlines of a chair. He was in a sitting position, his ankles bound to the legs of the chair, his arms parallel on the elbow-rests and his wrists tied tightly to them. The darkness around him, the voice and the muffled sounds, his bound hands and ankles – unwillingly Joe tensed up in anxiety. Blinking his eyes, he frantically looked around and gasped.  
  
Barely seen in the darkness, there were two dark figures on the floor – one sitting in the opposite corner and the other one leaning over him. "Chet...." Joe breathed, fear creeping in every cell of his body. Memories of the day flooded his mind – the mall, the attack, the dank basement, Newman, his fist aimed into his face...  
  
That was Chet and Newman! Joe's mouth suddenly ran dry as he thought what might be happening there. "Go away from him!" he managed hoarsely over a lump in his throat. "Go away!!"  
  
In the sudden silence, Joe heard his heart drumming inside. His heart skipped a beat when one of the shadows in the corner moved and he felt the cold piercing stare bore into him. This is the end, this is... Joe's mind was screaming as he expected the man to come and assail him, but to his utter surprise Newman turned away back to Chet.  
  
"Remember, you'll be the first..." Joe heard him say. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the blade of a knife in his hands glitter in the darkness.  
  
"Stop!!" Joe found his voice, screwing up his courage. "Stop it, you, scum! It's me you want! Leave him alone!!"  
  
A chilly draught was blowing past him, but he felt hot all over – he could feel sweat on his forehead, hot blood rushing through his veins. Every breath of damp air hurt his throat like emery paper, but he couldn't stop the words that were leaving his mouth, "You, freak! Get away from him! You...." The words stuck in his throat.  
  
There was a soft rustle in the room, barely audible behind the whistle of the draught and the knocks of the raindrops against the window. Joe's heart sank into his boots when he saw the dark figure rise.  
  
"Don't!" Chet's pleading voice said. "Please!"  
  
Involuntary, Joe jerked away in his chair, his back pressing against the wooden chair, when Newman moved towards him. Joe's heart must have beaten a billion times faster its normal speed as the tall shadow hovered over him.  
  
"How did you call me?" Newman asked calmly.  
  
"Leave him alone!" Chet pleaded again, but Newman ignored him. "I don't like people calling me names," he forcefully slapped Joe across the face and Joe tasted blood in his mouth. "'It's me you want, leave him alone!'" he mimicked Joe's voice. "Do you understand what you were asking for?" Newman hissed, leaning down to look the teen in the face. "Once I'm done with him, what do you think is waiting for you?"  
  
Joe's breath was coming in gasps. "My Dad is going to f-find me...us," Joe said in a small voice.  
  
"What?" a cold, sharp laughter rang in the teen's ears. "Dad going to find you? It was my- my inaccuracy and your daddy's sheer luck that I ended up in that stinking prison. Didn't you know he never managed to find me or save anyone from me. Are you still sure he'll find you? On time?"  
  
"I am..." Joe replied, his quiet voice shaking. His vision had adjusted to the darkness and he saw a smug smirk on the man's face.  
  
"Well... so it be," Newman straightened his back. "Have a good time," he said, walking across the room and disappearing through the open door.  
  
"Joe? Joe, you okay? Did he do anything to you?" Chet asked, his voice full of concern.  
  
The door snapped shut with a clunk, followed by a metal click in the lock.  
  
"I'm fine," Joe replied, breathing deeply to calm his still racing heart. "You?"  
  
"Same here. Man he had me scared when he walked up to you!"  
  
"I thought that he...he...I mean when I saw the knife in his hands, I thought that you were..." he couldn't bring himself to say that out loud.  
  
"No, he was just threatening me," Chet's voiced sounded even, but there were notes in it that were betraying his tension. "Rather successfully," he added gloomily seconds later.  
  
"What did he say?" There was a thud sound of a closing door somewhere above them. "Is he going away?" Joe frowned.  
  
"Shopping," Chet replied after a pause. "For...'tools' as he called them. He said he had nothing but a knife and the knife wasn't the best things for...well..."  
  
There was a sound of a starting engine, followed by the rustle of the disappearing vehicle.  
  
Joe didn't ask his friend what the knife wasn't the best things for. "Chet, we gotta clear out before he returns! And quick!" He pulled at the ropes binding his wrists, but he only felt the ropes sink into his skin.  
  
"I know! I've been trying to loosen these ropes, but..." the was a pause as Chet strained his muscles. "But they don't give."  
  
"We should try harder!" Joe said between clenched teeth as pain started to throb in his wrists. In the silence he was pulling at the twines again and again, but the more he tried the deeper and sorer the cuts on his wrists were becoming. "What happened to the light?" he asked, stopping for a moment to muster his strengths.  
  
"Fused a couple of minutes later after he knocked you out. How are you, by the way?"  
  
"I'd be..." the pain in his arms was becoming more intense, but Joe wasn't going to give up. "...be grateful if he stopped hitting my head..." he swore under his breath, having no luck with the ropes. Newman obviously had endeavored to make sure they wouldn't untie themselves. "I can't...loosen them," he muttered later after another unsuccessful attempt.  
  
"They're too tight," Chet said ruefully and let out a heavy sigh.  
  
"Are you tied by the hands and ankles?" Joe asked, having a sudden idea.  
  
"I am. If you wanted me to crawl to you somehow and untie you, I don't think I can," Chet said in a small voice. "My hands are tied behind my back and tied to the ropes round my ankles."  
  
"How is that?" Joe asked, confused, trying to see the strange pose Chet must have been in, but seeing only a shadow in the opposite corner.  
  
"Uncomfortable," Chet grunted. "I can barely move and even if I do get near you somehow I won't be able to raise my hands high enough to untie you."  
  
Joe felt despair creep into him. They had to get away before Newman returned! Because if they didn't...he shook his head, refusing to think about it.  
  
"What did he mean by 'you'll be the first'?" Joe asked. He strained his muscles again, biting his lower lip as the rope cut deeper into his sore skin. His dim ray of hope started to fade as time went on, but the rope didn't give. "Heck," he hissed as he tried and pain coursed up his arms from the wrists.  
  
"I..." there was a moment of silence. "I don't know. Actually I understood little of what that madman had said, he speaks very incoherently, you know. I don't think he can understand himself..."  
  
'The devil take you, Morton!' Anger was stealing over Joe's soul. It wasn't Chet he was angry with, it was Newman. The meaning of his words was clear enough and resentment seized him. Chet had nothing to do with Fenton Hardy bringing the criminal to justice, he shouldn't be in this dank basement at all!..  
  
"Joe?" Chet called, when Joe hadn't uttered a sound.  
  
"What?" Joe exclaimed, sharper than indented. "I mean...What?" he asked calmer, forcing himself to cool down.  
  
"You were just so suddenly silent."  
  
"I was trying to get these ropes loosened," Joe lied. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh. I just really want to get out of here ASAP."  
  
"No probs. Frank and your Dad must have harnessed everyone from the Bayport police. They'll find us soon."  
  
Undoubtedly they must have started to search for them, but it didn't make Joe feel easier. In such a stormy night they had little chances of being found before Newman returned, so it was up to them to free and save themselves. He tried at the ropes again. "Jinx," he hissed as he tried and pain coursed up his arms from the wrists. 


	7. chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
"Here they are," Frank announced, carrying a pile of folders from his father's study. "There are seven cases and the court order. Two files for everyone."  
  
He gave each of his friends two folders and sat down on the sofa, scanning his own files, "I have a case and the court decision."  
  
"What are we looking for in particular?" Phil asked, looking through the first few pages of his folder.  
  
"Connection between the places where he kept them," Frank replied. "Well, just try to find what you think can be useful," he said, pushing the worst thoughts off his mind.  
  
Everyone sat in complete silence for about 20 minutes, absorbed in reading. However, Biff found it hard to concentrate on what he was studying for he couldn't stop himself from thinking with dread how a human being could do all those terrible things.  
  
His first file was about an 8-year-old girl from Delaware. One day her parents reported her missing after she had not come back home after school. Three days later the police was called by a man who refused to introduce himself and told them where to find the girl. The body was found in a small wooden hut in the forest. Angelina Brown's parents had to bury her in pieces.  
  
The other victim Biff read about was William Scott, a 42-year-old businessman from Maryland. One morning he left home to go to work and it was the last time his wife saw him alive. His quartered body was found in a deserted house in the suburbs.  
  
As much as he wanted to, but Biff saw no connection between the two cases, except for the way the two were murdered. Newman first cut off fingers and toes, then palms and feet, then went up to elbows and knees. If the victim still lived – like William Scott – Newman quartered them completely.  
  
Biff had to swallow as the cold shiver ran up and down his spine. Why did he do all that? What had driven him into starting all those meaningless, merciless murders? What reasons did he have to choose those 2 particular people? Just then he remembered his two friends were missing now and his blood ran cold at the thought of what was to come. This time Newman did have a reason – revenge, and Biff dreaded to think what could be on his mind. He silently to every god above for neither of his friends to get hurt and go through that kind of hell, yet, he was ninety-nine percent sure his prayers, if heard, were belated...  
  
He shot a glance at Frank who had his eyebrows knitted in one line as his eyes scanned the papers in his hands. Biff couldn't see his eyes, but he could tell by the paleness of his face he was terrified.  
  
His eyes caught a movement o his right, Tony had finished reading. He swallowed and shook his head as he looked back at Biff. Moments later Frank and Phil finished, too.  
  
"So...." Fran said, his voice noticeably quivering. "W-what do we have?"  
  
Tony swallowed before replying, "Emma Fletcher, 26, a sales manager at a recruiting agency in New York. Was married and had a 5-year-old daughter. Found in hut in a forest outside New York after 3 days. And..." Tony took the other file, "Yakky Einkinnen, a 21-year-old student from Finland. He studied in Philadelphia, his friends reported him missing after he'd been absent for two days, the next day his body was found in one of the campus accommodations in the basement. What makes me wonder is what those people did to him? He couldn't just kidnap them and...and... I mean, there should have been a reason!" Everyone looked at him, silent. "What?"  
  
"No, Tony, you're right, he should have had a reason," Frank said. "But it seems as he was doing it all to his heart's content...."  
  
"People don't just start meaningless murders, do they?" Tony insisted.  
  
"According to this," Frank showed one of his folders, "he had a psychological trauma of some kind that drove him into doing that, at least, his lawyer said so.... I'll have to ask Dad for clarification. Phil, what's in your files?"  
  
"Erm, a 15-year-old teen from Maryland, Mike Tyler. He was quicker that time, it took him two days to- to do you know what, he was found in a garage outside the town he lived in. And the other one is Henry Adams, 52, a professor from Boston University. He was a widower, Newman killed him in his own apartment."  
  
Frank sighed, "And I have Barbara Woods, a divorced housewife from Bridgeport, New York, found in her house. The other file is the court decision. Newman was found guilty of murdering 7 people and was sentenced to life imprisonment. There's nothing about his biography or whatever.... All we know is why he has Joe and Chet, however I have no idea why he wanted them both... What do we know about the places where he kept his victims?"  
  
"Different from what I heard," Tony said glumly.  
  
"Fabulous," Frank hissed and leaned back in the sofa.  
  
"No, as far as I remember there were two huts somewhere in forests? And then a house and a garage somewhere in the suburbs. So, it must be a place outside Bayport," Phil said. "Besides, if he escaped just yesterday, he couldn't plan it out too well, it must be the first place he thought was...." He searched for the right word, "suitable for...for...."  
  
"He may have a point," Biff nodded. "I mean, there are woods around Bayport, you could ask foresters if they saw anyone in the area.... Frank?"  
  
Frank had a far away look on his face. When Phil snapped his fingers in front of his nose, he answered, "I'm listening... Yeah, you're right. I guess I better call Dad and tell him...."  
  
Frank was barely able to dial the right number with his shaking hands and closed his eyes, waiting for the reply. Seven people, killed bestially for no apparent reason. If Newman did that with innocent people, what will he do, seeking for revenge?..  
  
"Hello?" a low voice of Fenton Hardy interrupted Frank's horrifying thoughts.  
  
"Dad, it's me," Frank said, his voice composed. "We thought of something here," he told him what'd they thought about deserted places in suburbs.  
  
"Yeah, we figured it out, too," Fenton agreed. "Collig is calling foresters now, checking if they had seen anyone in the dark sedan in the area."  
  
"Any luck?" Frank asked hopefully.  
  
There was a heavy sigh on the other end, "Not yet. But this is something to start with anyway.. If it weren't for the weather and the night, there would have been more officers, searching for them. Unfortunately, we can't comb the forests at night...."  
  
Frank felt the knot in his stomach double. "Dad, can I ask you a couple of questions?" he asked, breaking the eerie silence. "Why did he start doing such things, what was the trigger and how did you catch him?"  
  
"When a student, he was very much indulged in drugs and drinks. His parents pulled him through, though, and he returned to life. He got married to Barbara Woods, soon she got pregnant. But there must have been major changes to his system after all the stuff, so his kid was born deformed, the boy had no fingers or toes. He had a serious brain defect and lots of other problems. He lived only three months," Fenton said. "I guess that drove him over the edge, his first victim was his wife, he blamed her for the baby's illness and death."  
  
"Barbara Woods?" Frank re-asked. "She was his wife?"  
  
"Yeah, she didn't take his surname.... He killed six more people out of his own motives, but we never could understand how he chose them – I mean there was a little girl and a man in his years. He refused to explain it," Fenton sighed. "Newman's lawyer tried to get an insanity plea, but the committee of psychological experts found him quite sane and he was imprisoned. And that's all the story."  
  
"I see," Frank felt sick. "How did you catch him?"  
  
"I didn't," Fenton's voice became glum. "Newman is a careless driver. We caught him when he ended up in a car crash."  
  
There was a long pause between them. Frank felt despair seize his heart, they couldn't wait for a crash, which could never happen, to catch him! They needed to get him now!  
  
"Frank, we'll find them. Bayport is a small town, we have an idea where to look for him. The police will start to comb the town and the environs since early morning. Plus, Collig thought of showing his photo in the morning news, asking people to call the police if they had seen him. We'll find the guys!..."  
  
"What state are they going to be in when you find them?" Frank suddenly shouted into the receiver.  
  
Three pairs of surprised eyes stared at him. There was no sound coming for the other end of the line. Frank knew he was on the edge of nervous breakdown – his brother and friend were in grave danger and they talked about tomorrow morning. Tomorrow will come long hours later, the time was more than enough for Newman to maim them for life.  
  
"Frank, calm down," there was a pleading note in Fenton's voice. "I understand you, but we have to hold on."  
  
"Hold on? It's not some two unknown people we're talking about! Do you seriously think I can hold on, knowing we'll have to wait till morning – morning, mind you! – to just start to do something."  
  
"Frank, I know it's not some two unknown people we're talking about," Fenton's voice betrayed sadness he was trying to hide. There was a long pause before he went on. "If there was something else we could do we would."  
  
Frank swallowed bitter tears that rose in his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him. He shook his head, "Impossible...This is impossible. We can't wait!"  
  
"If you have a better idea what we can physically do in the dead of such a stormy night, I'm all ears," Fenton said glumly.  
  
Frank opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He racked his brains for an answer, there should have been something they could do, stormy night or not. But whatever it was, it remained unknown to the despaired 18-year-old. "Blast it..." he whispered into the receiver, blank hopelessness in his heavy heart. "This is so crazy."  
  
"Sad, but true," Fenton had to agree. "Listen, I'll finish my business with the Chief in five minutes, I'll be home in fifteen minutes. Talk to you there, okay?"  
  
"Okay," Frank said quietly. "And I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay, son, I understand. I'm almost on my way."  
  
Frank put the receiver down and bowed his head into his hands.  
  
"What did he say?" Tony asked quietly when Frank hadn't said a word.  
  
Frank told them about their conversation. "He's coming home soon," he said, taking a deep breath in and leaning back in his chair.  
  
The three looked helplessly at each other, knowing they couldn't say anything to make Frank feel better. The room fell into silence again.  
  
"Do you want tea?" Biff asked meekly.  
  
Everyone nodded silently and the teen disappeared into the kitchen.  
  
"Frank, how are you?" Phil asked.  
  
"I...I just can't stop thinking about what he may be doing to them at the very moment. We've lost so much time, he must have already....already...." Frank put his face into his hands, struggling with tears.  
  
Without a word, Tony put a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. 


	8. chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
'...And then we'll go somewhere far away for some time. Altogether. And invite all our friends. We'll go somewhere warm and nice, like Hawaii. Or maybe we can even go to Europe. The Canaries are said to be great. However, no. It's gonna be cold there this time of year... But we'll think of something when we get out of here... If you get out of here.... Shut up! We are getting out of here, do you hear me? We are!...just shut up....'  
  
Joe sighed heavily in exasperation. Every time he tried to distract himself from the surroundings and think about his happy future a strange voice would chime in and remind him of the uncertain reality. He tried to ignore it, but failed, it still kept on interrupting all his positive thoughts. It was like having two people in his head, one was himself and the other a mysterious ill-wisher.  
  
'I'm going mad. Totally mad. Schizophrenic, arguing with myself... I'm just tired, I'm only arguing with my imagination... I wanna go home so much... Somebody come and take me home...'  
  
Time went on, but no one came yet. Neither Newman, and Joe was thankful for that, he wished something had happened to him and he wasn't coming back to carry out his sick plan. Nor someone else – his father or whoever else who could save them from the hands of the madman. And the latter was making Joe very disheartened. Their time was running out and he was very afraid he and Chet wouldn't be found on time.  
  
"Joe?" Chet called, interrupting his dismal thoughts.  
  
"Huh?" Joe looked in his direction, frowning. It felt strange talking to a shadow in the opposite corner. 'Like talking to a ghost...'  
  
"You have any idea what time it is?"  
  
"Search me. Must be past midnight or so," Joe sighed and they fell silent again. To him the time passed after Newman's going away seemed like many hours, though it must have been much less – an hour at the most. Time always snails on when you need it to pass.  
  
Joe stirred in his chair and winced when the subdued pain seared from his wrists up his arms anew. He had stopped trying to loosen the ropes, having to admit that he wouldn't succeed, only hurt himself even more if he kept on. The twine had cut deep into his skin and he had to sit as still as possible fore every slightest move flamed up the liquid fire in his veins.  
  
"Cold in here, isn't it?" Chet broke the odd silence again. "My teeth are chattering... I only wish they were munching some hot soup instead of moving uselessly," he chuckled at his own joke.  
  
At the mention of food Joe's stomach growled and he regretted turning down vanilla pudding for lunch. What wouldn't he give away to have a decent dinner now?... The next second a gust of cold draught blew past him, chilling him to the bones, and all the thoughts about his empty stomach vanished. The reality wasn't letting him stay in his imaginary world of comfort for too long. "The draught is blowing right past me," he said to keep up the conversation. "It's freezing me through. I feel like an ice statue."  
  
"Hmm, bad," Chet sympathized. "But if it makes you feel better, I'm not better here..."  
  
"It doesn't make me feel better, Chet!" Joe suddenly snapped harshly at him. "The fact that someone feels as lousy as I do never makes me feel better."  
  
"Oh..." There was a pause. "I-I'm sorry, Joe. It's not what I meant, I know you're not like that." Chet said when Joe remained silent. "Sorry. I didn't mean to-to upset you or whatever I did."  
  
Joe sighed heavily, an ticklish feeling in his throat when the damp air went down. "It's alright. And I'm sorry, too. I didn't want to sound so finicky."  
  
"Never mind."  
  
Joe had a heavy feeling in his heart for picking on his friend's words like that. He was having a hard time keeping his emotions under control in their dreadful situation and Chet's presence was only making the bad feeling grow. Joe made a mental note not to bicker with him for no reason, he wasn't to blame that Newman had his own peculiar reasons to kidnap him as well.  
  
'It's your fault he's here.... I didn't ask for it! I didn't do anything to put him in danger!... You never do it intentionally, but it doesn't change the fact that the people who have nothing to do with your investigations... I wasn't investigating anything!... with your investigations end up in troubles because of you... Haven't I told you to shut up?... Hey, look there, Chet's here and he, not you, according to that man, is going to be the first...'  
  
Joe felt a shiver run down his spine, like it did every time he remembered Newman's distant hissing voice saying "remember you'll be the first" again. What was he going to do if this was what was going to happen soon? How was he going to stop him from hurting Chet? And if he did manage to stop – at what price?  
  
'Scared now, huh? Y'know why Because of his sister. Because if anything happens to him-... Nothing is going to happen to him! They'll come soon, I know they will. We'll get out of here before anything happens... Oh, Joey, why do you wake up to reality?'  
  
The voices quieted down and he closed his eyes to recover his poise. He knew he was losing the mental battle to his challenger and his defeat would probably cost him his sanity. 'Perfect prospect', he thought gloomily to himself.  
  
The storm outside kept on raging. The rain was pelting down, knocking into the small shattered window and the whistling draught was getting stronger, blowing all warmth out of Joe. His chest hurt with every breath of chilly air. His limbs were getting numb in the coldness and he had started to loose feelings in his fingers and toes.  
  
The lack of movement was making his whole body stiff and he desperately wanted to move to ease the rigidity, but he daren't even try, knowing in advance it would only relight the fire in his sore wrists. If he felt so uncomfortable, sitting on a chair, how was Chet holding up, lying on the floor with his hands tied to his ankles behind his back? He looked at the hunched shadow opposite him and sighed heavily, feeling for his friend.  
  
The moment the damp air went down into his lungs he suddenly started to cough like mad, his sore throat throbbing mercilessly and his chest aching with each uncontrollable gulp of cold air.  
  
"Joe?" he heard Chet's concerned voice though the buzz in his ears.  
  
Joe desperately wanted to stop his irrepressible coughing, which was leaving him weaker and weaker, but the more he tried the worse it seemed to be getting. His throat hurt as if he were swallowing emery paper, not gasping for air. 'Blast it!' It was only half a minute later when the fit of coughing finally ceased, leaving the teen's ticklish throat on fire.  
  
"Joe?" Chet called again. "You okay?"  
  
"No, I'm not!" Joe said between ragged gasps of air. "Isn't it obvious?"  
  
"It-it is, but..."  
  
"Why ask then?"  
  
Chet paused before replying, "I asked because I was worried," he said defensively, notes of offence in his voice.  
  
"Well I'm not okay! I'm sick and tired sitting and freezing in this damn chair, unable to do anything and just waiting for someone to come and decide my fate!"  
  
"I understand all that. I just don't get it, what does your anger have to do with me?"  
  
Joe opened his mouth, but snapped it shut as realization hit him. He'd just broken his promise to himself.  
  
"Tell me," Chet went on when Joe remained silent, "What's your problem with me?"  
  
"Chet, I'm sorry, I was a total jerk," Joe apologized, feeling his ears start to burn. "There's no problem with you, the problem is with me."  
  
"Then why don't you stop it? Trust me, I'm not happy to be here, either. In fact if there was a chance to leave you alone so my presence wouldn't irritate you, I'd jump at that chance. But I'm here and I can't get anywhere from here and believe me, it pisses me off just as much!"  
  
Joe was lost for words. Chet had every right to act the way he did and tell him off, if it was reversed he'd feel just as slighted. "I'm sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't mean to be so-so callous."  
  
"Are you mad at me for something? If you are, tell me so we could sort out once and for all. The last thing we need at the moment is to hold grudges against one another and to be at each other's necks. "  
  
"I'm not mad at you. To be more precise, it's not you I'm mad at."  
  
"Then why are you always snapping at me when I try to start a conversation or ask if you're okay? I thought were friends..."  
  
"We are!"  
  
"If we are then why can't you understand that I'm worried that you're getting sick over there? That I actually care? Isn't it what friendship is about? To try to make it easier when things are rough?"  
  
"You're right. I'm just... Well, just sorry."  
  
"Just sorry," Chet chuckled bitterly, but Joe could tell he was cooling down. "Hardy, I have feelings, too, maybe even as bas as yours," he said calmly. "The situation's bad, but I'm not trying to make it worse for you. Don't try to make it worse for me, too."  
  
"I honestly didn't want to make you feel bad."  
  
There was an awkward pause. Finally Chet sighed, "I know you didn't. Sorry, I didn't mean to squabble with you. Just don't make it harder for both of us, okay? I was only worried when I asked if you were okay."  
  
"I know. I'm fine, Chet. Well, considering. You?"  
  
"Still holding up."  
  
Joe nodded, "Good. Sorry again. I promise I'll behave."  
  
"You better," Chet said with a chuckle and Joe smiled ruefully to himself, Chet's displeasure vanished as quickly as it had come – as always. Of all his friends Chet was the kindest chum. 'Jerk!' he cursed at himself for being so unreasonably nasty to him.  
  
'Maybe it's time to learn? To treat people well so when they're gone you don't regret mistreating them?'  
  
Joe bowed his head, having nothing to say to the voice in his head. Whatever it was, no matter how harsh its words were, he couldn't argue with it. The voice didn't come from nowhere, Joe realized, it was always there, in his head, keeping in silence when he behaved and screaming at him when he didn't....  
  
.... And he was eager to keep his conscience quiet until their hell was over. 


	9. chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
Frank sighed heavily. He has been studying the map of Bayport and its surrounding for an hour already, trying to figure out where Newman could probably keep Joe and Chet. The area around the town was woody and, Frank had to admit, it would be extremely difficult to locate the exact place. He had chosen a large-scaled map with all buildings stated and was writing down all the places that Newman could have preferred.  
  
He was desperate to get into the van and speed to check all of them, but the weather outside was storming and the roads to all those places would be impassable at night. 'Jinx', he swore to himself and angrily threw his notebook and pen on the table. He glanced at the watch and a tight knot in his stomach became even tighter. Past midnight, seven hours since Joe's been gone, nine hours since Chet's disappearance.  
  
'Let them be alright', he prayed silently. 'Let them be alright, safe and sound, alive and in one piece and we'll do the rest to save them....'  
  
He closed his eyes, feeling he was on the verge of tears. It would be a miracle if either of them was alright by the moment. Frank was telling himself to remain positive, but as time went on he found it harder and harder to hold on and accept reality. Newman had no reason waiting till morning to start his enormities.  
  
Frank swallowed his tears over a lump in his throat and stood up from the sofa. He glanced around the empty living room, his heart twisting. Never in his life had he felt so lonely and helpless. 'They're gonna be alright', he stubbornly repeated to himself and went to the kitchen to make himself coffee. Staring dumbly at the humming kettle, Frank felt guilt wash over him. He was safe and warm, at his own home and they.... 'They're gonna be alright!...'  
  
'Why did Newman need the two of them? Or why Joe, not me? Frank's mind drifted away again. 'What does having our friend have to do with it all? And why Chet?' He swallowed as the answer rose in his mind. He wouldn't torture them both simultaneously, he'd kill Chet first. Chet, no one else, because of Iola.... He wants to make Joe watch it happen to the brother of his killed girlfriend before doing the same to him....  
  
Frank irately smashed a fist against the table. Known as always cool-headed in the most nerve-wracking situations, Frank could never control his anger when he knew he could do nothing to help his brother. At moments like this – and he bitterly chuckled at the thought that there had been way too many moments like this – he found it hard to decide who felt worse – Joe, not knowing what to expect from a psycho like Newman, or Frank, now knowing what he'd be told when someone called to update him on his brother's fate.  
  
A 'bing' snapped him back to reality. Frank rubbed his weary eyes and added water to instant coffee. Usually he drank tea and never this dark-brown liquid that tasted nothing like natural coffee, but as long as caffeine was going to keep him awake throughout the night he didn't care. He couldn't taste anything at the moment anyway. Picking up his cup, he headed for his father's study.  
  
Fenton had arrived back home two hours ago, looking grim and crestfallen. There was nothing else he could have done but agree to Chief Collig's plan which would be carried out only in the morning – and that was to search every desolate building inside and outside Bayport and look for a dark sedan on the streets of the town. But morning would come almost 6 hours later. By the time they would be able to start too much time would be wasted.  
  
Biff, Tony and Phil had stayed for some time, but then left reluctantly, making Frank promise he'd call them the moment he had news. Frank had watched them go and then started working on the map and the notes.  
  
Frank passed the living room to Fenton's study. He knocked on the door and peeped inside. Fenton's hands were on the table and his head was rested on them. Hearing the rustle, he wearily looked up at his son, "Frank? What's wrong?" he asked, lifting his head and rubbing his temples.  
  
"Nothing, I just wanted to know if you had good news to share with me?" Frank replied, waling inside and sitting down on an arm-chair.  
  
Fenton sighed heavily before shaking his head, "The patrol cars are looking for a dark sedan, but.... It's probably parked somewhere in the woods next to a shabby house the road to which is impassable at night in such weather....." he shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "When the day breaks, they are going to search every suspicious place – houses, huts in the woods, yachts in the port.... Ezra is doing all he can, but..."  
  
"But it's not going to make us of the Mortons feel better tonight," Frank finished for him in a small voice.  
  
Fenton nodded, "Waiting is all we can do.... I hate it...."  
  
"You called the Mortons?" Frank asked.  
  
"Yesss. They're....I don't think I can explain it....they're nearly hysterical," Fenton said. Frank thought there was a note of guilt in his voice. "It's understandable, though. After losing their daughter like that, to have the only kid left at the hands of Newman..."  
  
Frank felt bad for them. Donna and Bryan Morton were one of the nicest people he knew, they hadn't deserved anything like this happen to them. It was enough burying their daughter, no parent should outlive his child. And two children especially.  
  
"Dad?" Frank broke the oppressive silence. He swallowed before asking the question he couldn't get off his mind, "Do you think he started to.... Started, well..."  
  
Fenton gave his son a long steady gaze, "Frank, I think you know what I think about why he needed them both.... We still can save Joe.... If we work fast, we can save Chet, too."  
  
Frank's face paled. He inhaled deeply to ease the pain in his chest. 'If you work fast, you can save Chet, too'. The words were eating at him, devouring the last pieces of hope he had. 'They're gonna be alright.... Would anyone ever be alright again?'  
  
"Frank, why don't you go upstairs and lie down?" Fenton suggested. "I know it's hard to admit, but right now you can't do anything. You need to rest, I want you to be alright when needed."  
  
"Look who's talking," Frank peered at his father . "You've been up since unearthly hour, too."  
  
"Yes, but..." Fenton found no words to argue with his son. "Frank, you need it."  
  
"So do you," Frank pointed out.  
  
"I'm the father here," Fenton forced a rueful smile for his son. "Go. Time flies faster in sleep."  
  
Frank shook his head, "Dad, I won't be able to sleep. I-I... Every time I close my eyes I can't stop thinking about them, about what can be happening while we're here and they're there, afraid...hurt...waiting for us to come and save them. But we're not coming and...and..." he whispered, bowing his head.  
  
Fenton rose from his seat and went to his son. Wordlessly he kneeled down in front of him and pulled the trembling teen into his arms.  
  
Frank closed his eyes, letting go of his fears in his father's comforting embrace. It never ceased to astonish him how Fenton's gentle touch or a simple word could chase away all his doubts, fears and uncertainties. Even now, when he was a grown-up, whenever he was lost and despaired he still felt the need to get lost in his father's magic embrace to raise his spirits.  
  
"We're gonna get through this," Fenton told him quietly, patting him on the back. "We should always hope for the better."  
  
"How? How can we hope for the better when they're God knows where and their time is running out? If it hadn't already..."  
  
"I don't know why it happens, but thoughts often tend to materialize. If you think something bad is going to happen, it does turn out to be bad. And vice versa. As long as you hope, there's always a chance for the better."  
  
Frank thought about materializing thoughts. He remembered his childhood years when he silently wished for a particular Christmas present and then always found it under the Christmas tree. It felt so delightful to hold in hands what used to be only an image in his mind. It was years later when he realized how his wishes materialized when he accidentally caught Fenton hiding shining boxes with bows in his study. But now that he reminisced those years, he suddenly felt a lot calmer. Fenton had always managed to fulfill his expectations – and Frank refused to think this time it would be different.  
  
"Thank you, Dad," he said quietly, letting go of him and forcing a waned smiled. "Thank you."  
  
"You are always welcome," Fenton smiled back. "You know that no matter what, I'll always be there for you and Joe."  
  
"I know, Dad," Frank nodded. "And Joe knows it, too. Even now."  
  
"We'll bring him home, Frank," Fenton said firmly. "Today."  
  
"I believe you."  
  
"Good," Fenton smiled at him. "Now will you believe me if I tell you that you look worn out and need a few hours of rest?"  
  
"I guess I do, but... I can't. I really can't go to sleep. I want to be here."  
  
"If anything I'll wake you up immediately. I promise," Fenton coaxed. "You need to get your strengths back and you won't unless you rest for some time. There's no point in wandering around the house, you'll only feel worse. Please."  
  
As much as he tried to fight it, Frank had to admit that fatigue and sleepiness were taking the best of him. His father was right, the best thing he could do now was to summon up his strengths he'd need in the morning. "Okay," he finally agreed, much to Fenton's content. "But if anything you wake me up!"  
  
"I promised."  
  
Fenton wished him good night and Frank walked upstairs into his room. He didn't bother to undress and climbed under the blanket. He laid in the darkness, recalling the day's events. His whole body ached in tiredness, but sleep wouldn't come. The nearness of his brother's room and the emptiness of it seemed too disturbing to let him relax and fall asleep. How could he sleep knowing Joe was suffering?  
  
"Good night, Joe," he whispered into the darkness, fighting back the tears. "Hold on, we're gonna bring you home real soon... Please, be okay..."  
  
The wind was blowing the rain against the window, the monotone knocking seemed soothing and soporific. Frank tossed in bed for over ten minutes before sleep welcomed him.  
  
'Frank sniffed and muffled himself in his parka. He was standing on the hoar-frosted ground, covered with dead brown autumn leaves; he was shivering as new gusts of icy wind were freezing him to his bones. Petty snowflakes were falling down from heavy grey clouds above.  
  
"Just like Iola," whispered a familiar voice next to him.  
  
Frank turned to the right and saw Joe wipe his tears with his glove. "Joe, it's going to be alright," he tried to assure him, but something deep inside told him nothing would ever be alright again.  
  
"It-it is my fault," Joe said, his voice wavering with tears. "First her, now Chet. They shouldn't be there, it must be me and me only..."  
  
"No, it mustn't," Frank shook his head, a knife twisting in his heart as he looked down at two graves. "It's not up to us to decide who should lie there," he turned to look at his brother and...  
  
...his heart sank, Joe was nowhere to be seen, he was alone in the graveyard, his only company was the soughing wind. "Joe?" Frank called, dread creeping into him. "Joe??" he frantically looked around before his eyes caught sight of it.  
  
There were three graves now.' 


	10. chapter 10

Chapter 10  
Joe reclined his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, wishing to somehow get away from the oppressive darkness of the basement. But as he stayed tête-à-tête with himself, the bad feeling only grew. Never before had he felt so feeble and hopeless. Time was flying too fast when he thought about Newman who could come back any moment, but it was crawling on when he listened attentively to the silence, hoping to hear a sound from whoever was coming to rescue them. But nothing's happened for a very long time. Newman hasn't yet arrived, much to the two's relief; Chet hasn't said a word, having dozed off or simply lost in his own world. Only the rain outside stopped and the wind subdued not so long ago. The basement was dark and quiet, but such calmness scared Joe – it was a dead calm. 'The seaside is always still before the storm... I hope they come before the storm begins. I wonder what time it is. It must be so late, definitely past midnight .... Why aren't they coming?... Maybe they're sleeping? I'm so tired, I want to sleep so much, too... No, they're not asleep, I know they're looking for us.... They're looking for us... But what if they come too late?... I'm going crazy... I'm not crazy, I'm just tired and I want to get away from here... And I can't.... Can't... '...Isn't it like gliding on thin ice?... When you're waiting for a helping hand that will pull you to the steady ground, but no one is coming to your aid and you're trying to slither on your own, mentally mustering all your courage and hope because you know it's only up to you to save yourself, but physically dreading to make a slightest move because it can cause the dangerously thin surface crack beneath your feet and you'll fall to your death....' The last thought was a bit clumsy, in Joe's opinion, 'I'm not afraid to move!'. He just couldn't move at all. The more he tried to get his wrists freed, the deeper and sorer the cuts on them were becoming, but the ropes wouldn't give anyway - they were too tight, he had to confess, he wouldn't have loosened them even if he had been in perfect shape and his present condition was far from being at least satisfactory. He stirred, trying to change his pose, if possible when bound hand and foot to the chair, but only managed to move few muscles and it brought no comfort to his stiff body. He ached in every limb and he couldn't already feel his fingers and toes. The temperature in the basement was getting lower and he was freezing, every time a gust of draught blew past him he felt his skin crawl. Joe even tried to breathe shallowly to let as little cold damp air in as possible. Exhaustion was taking its toll on the teen, there was a strange buzz in his aching head – the kind of drone he always heard when going to bed after having a very intensive day. The dull sound was wearing him further off, but at the same time it wouldn't let him relax and nod off. Every time he was close to relaxing and distracting himself from his fears and pains, his senses would remind him of the dank surroundings, the uncomfortable chair he was bound to, he would hear the squeaks of the old house and feel the coldness of the damp air. And then Joe had to struggle with the reality again. 'Sit and wait is all you can do. Helpless, feeble... You're so pathetic, Hardy.... How I hate it...' He sighed and opened his eyes. He looked around the dark room and his eyes stopped at the still figure in the opposite corner. A second later he looked aside, guilt gnawing at him. 'Why should it be you, Chet? What have you done so wrong to have your life screwed up like this? Why did you have to meet me in your life?' Joe shook his head, trying to get rid of the feeling of remorse that was taking control of him. 'What if they're too late to save us and he does start to carry out his sick plan? What if I won't be able to stop him and you'll indeed become the first?... I always make a mess of people's lives. Or even put an end to them... Iola, I'm so sorry...' His eyes swelled with tears at the memory of the raven-haired girl. 'I always wanted to be a hero for you and other people, instead I ruin everybody's lives....' Joe bowed his head, his face wry as he struggled with sudden tears. Emotions that were taking him open were more than he could cope with. Fear for what would happen when Newman returned. Despair, uncertain if the police would find them sooner than their hell began. Panic, being unable to free himself from his bounds, free Chet and run away. Dull pain when trying to untie the ropes. Conscience when looking at Chet. Heartache when remembering his sister.... Two tears rolled down his cheeks and he sniffed, ashamed to cry like a little boy, but emotions were getting uncontrollable. He sniffed again and again, doing his utmost not to break down crying. "Joe?" Chet suddenly called. It was the first time he had said something in fifteen minutes. "Joe, what is wrong?" Instead of an answer Joe only sniffed again, swallowing the tears that had arisen in his throat. He wasn't going to break down in front of his friend, he is strong! "Joe?" Chet's voice was full of concern. "What? What's wrong?" "Nothing," Joe managed huskily between gasps of air. "It's okay, Chet. Really. It's nothing." "But you are..." "I'm not!" Joe tried to sound even, but his voice betrayed his feelings anyway. "I'm not crying!" "Joe, it's okay," Chet said quietly after a pause. "It's me. It's okay. I understand." "What do you understand?" Joe whispered bitterly. "You're so lucky you don't understand anything..." "What do you mean? What don't I understand?" Chet asked and stirred a little to hear Joe better. "Tell me." Joe chuckled bitterly. How was he supposed to put to words emotions that were tearing him apart? What could he say to him, knowing that he was partially responsible for him being here? Was there any way to speak his troubled mind? "Joe?" Chet sounded almost pleadingly. "I'm so sorry...." Joe sniffed again, tears watering his eyes anew. "I'm so sorry...." "Sorry? Sorry for what?" "That you're here." "What? But it's not your fault," Chet replied. "It is!" Joe exclaimed, louder than needed, but his emotions were getting out of his mind's control again. "It is! It's me he wants! It's me and me only who should be here!" "Joe..." Chet wished there was something to say, but words failed him as he tried to reply to that absurd statement. "You're.... There's obviously a serious head injury after the blows. You're running a fever!... What you've just said, you're being delirious to just think such stupid things." "Chet, how can't you understand?" "Understand what?" "Don't you understand what he's doing?" when Chet didn't reply, Joe broke down. "Don't you understand why you're here? Can't you see because of whom it's all happening? Chet, I can't stand it anymore! I'm sick and tired of these bastards hurting the people I love just to get at me! Can't they just come and finish me off and leave the others, who have nothing to do with me and Frank and my father investigating, alone?..." his voice trailed off. "Don't you understand what they're doing?..." "I understand what they're doing. They, not you. It's not your fault," Chet said firmly. "It's theirs." "But if you never knew me, none of this would have happened to you, you'd be home now, safe and sound, if you never helped us investigate then you would...." "Yeah, right, I'd spent my entire life earthing up cucumbers instead of making it interesting, helping you investigate," Chet chuckled. "Joe, you never asked us to help, we wanted to do that ourselves because it was...I dunno, challenging, interesting. Dangerous, too, yes, but it's a part of it, isn't it?" "But it's becoming way too dangerous!" Joe said. "But your 'ifs' can't change it. I have never regretted the fact that I know you, no matter how dangerous friendship with you can be sometimes." "And I have. I regretted it one day a year ago," Joe said in a small voice. "Because...'cause if...if Iola never met me, she'd still be alive..." "And I thought we were past that," Chet let out a heavy sigh before going on. "Do you know for sure?" he asked quietly. "No one can know if she'd be alive now even if she never met you. You knew her, she believed in predestination. Just like I do. It happened, because...because it just should have happened. And if it should it would have happened – the way it did or somehow else." "Rubbish! It shouldn't have happened anyhow! What should have happened is that I should have been killed back then! Not her!.." "We don't decide." Joe threw his head backward, tears flowing down the sides of his cheeks. "Joe, we don't decide," Chet repeated quietly when Joe remained silent. "We can't decide such things. We can't choose when to be born, who said we can choose when to die?... Things happen for a reason, even if the reason remains unknown to us. I can't know why she died, I can't know why I'm here. But what I know is that she wouldn't want to see you blaming her death on yourself, I don't want to see you blaming her death on yourself." "But you do blame it on me, don't you?" Joe asked, afraid to hear the answer, but knowing he had to hear it. "No!" Chet exclaimed. "For God's sake, no! I only blame the guy who set the bomb into your van.... And you know what? If it weren't her, it still would be someone – you or Frank or one of the other guys. And it'd hurt just as much.... Please, Joe, you have to get over that. Leave the past in the past."  
  
"How? Tell me, how?" "Let go of your guilt or whatever you feel about that day. Move on. She had a good life and her last few years were especially happy – thanks to you. Iola was happy. You made her happy. And it's not your fault she loved you, but it's your merit she was happy, loving you." Joe shook his head in disbelief. Chet was so wrong. If she was happy, why did it have it end? What had she done to end her life like that? What had Chet done to end up in this hellish basement? "You gotta move on. Really move on." "Really move on," Joe whispered and chuckled bitterly. Could he really ever move on when every time he tried every little thing would remind him of her – her picture on the night table, her locker in the school, the closed door to her room in the Mortons' house, her favorite swings in the park? Would he be able to move on if anything happened to Chet tonight? How could he move on when something was always pulling him back? "Forget all those 'what ifs', they can't change the past. I know you would save her if you knew what was to going to happen. But you didn't know. No one did... It's been a year, it's time to accept it that she's not coming back. It hurts to say it," there was a quaver in his voice, "it hurts very much, but...but the real her is not here anymore. She's a dream at night, a memory by day. A happy memory...." A memory. A misty form Joe still saw in his dreams. A shadow that still filled his soul with hope that she's alive and he can touch her skin, smell her perfume, hear her voice. Only when he woke up a bitter realization would always hit him like a knife. She was only a memory, a dream at night for a year. In course of time she came to him in his dreams less and less often. But sometimes his pillow was still damp with tears in the morning and he felt sick at heart. "I just can't understand one thing. Why?" Joe asked barely audibly. "Why her, Chet? Why her and not me?" "I don't know," came the reply. "Maybe because it was her time to go. Maybe because it wasn't yours. Maybe because it should happen in your life – and ours, too, by the way – to make you and us realize something. I don't know, Joe. Maybe I'll never know. But the fact remains the same. She's not here anymore, but...but our lives go on. And we should live them." She's not here anymore. She too had a life to live, but someone pulled her out of this world. So abruptly and so cruelly. "Just remember that one day we'll meet her again. She died, saving someone else's life – yours or Frank's or whoever's. And I know that she wouldn't want that saved life be spent on nothing, mourning her. Say, if-if it happened like that – it was our van and you opened the door instead of her and-and...well, you know, would you want her to feel guilty, to mourn you for the rest of her life, to shut herself from the world and never feel happy again?" "No," Joe whispered. "Then what makes you think she feels differently?" "I don't know, Chet. It's just getting so hard sometimes. You know, to play a detective and know that you failed to save someone you loved. Still love. To still play a detective and be shut in a basement with one of your best friends. To know that you're in grave danger and be unable to do anything about it... Is there any chance I can move on when it happens all the time? Will I be able to move on if anything happens to you?" Chet fell silent, as if he had forgotten about where and why they were. The heartfelt conversation was replaced by strain between the two of them. Joe thought he had asked a question his friend didn't have a ready-made answer for. If everything was reversed, he knew 'if anything happens to me, forget about it all and get on with your life' kind of answer would sound too lame. In the awkward silence of the basement the noises from outside seemed so loud that the distant sound of the rising wind, playing with autumn leaves somewhere far away, seemed very near...  
  
"Joe, I don't know how to reply to that," Chet finally said, "but...but can you do me a favor? Promise me something. Promise me that no matter what happens you'll find a way to get on with your life? Please?"  
  
"What?" Joe felt cold shiver down his spine at the words. What was on Chet's mind? 'No matter what happens....get on with your life...no matter what happens...' "Chet, what are you...." He never finished as the rustling sound from outside caught his attention again. It was getting louder and louder- "You hear that?" he asked, turning his head to the window to hear better.  
  
Chet was silent for a second, listening attentively. "It's a car!" he exclaimed. "And it's moving here!"  
  
The crunch of the tires on the gravel was unmistakable now, someone was speeding towards the house – and very fast, Joe could tell. As if the driver knew the road to the hut...  
  
"Who do you think it is?" Chet asked. "Do you think it's...." he swallowed over a lump in his throat.  
  
The next second Joe narrowed his eyes against the sudden light which had burst into the basement through the small window when the vehicle had stopped right opposite it. The thud of a closing door was followed by hurried steps. Of only one person....  
  
"Joe?" Chet's voice wavered. "Promise me!" he pleaded. "Please???"  
  
Pop-eyed with dread, Joe looked at him. The light from outside was dim, but he it was enough to see Chet's face. The expression of terror and entreaty, he knew, would haunt him for the rest of his life. 'My very short life...Mama mia...Dad, Frank!!!'  
  
"Please?"  
  
The rapid steps down the squeaky stairs to the door stopped and the person inserted the key into the keyhole...  
  
"Joe??"  
  
"Sorry, Chet," Joe swallowed, hearing a rattling click and watching, awestruck, the door handle move.... "I can't promise you something I won't be able to do..."  
  
The door opened.  
  
Newman was back.... 


	11. chapter 11

Chapter 11  
  
Frank exhaled loudly as he sat upright in his bed, eyes wide open in shock. They became even wider when he found himself alone in complete darkness. Looking around, he finally recognized the dim outlines of his own room. He'd only dreamt it, the imaginary graveyard was far away.... He put his face into his hands and flopped back down onto his bed, feeling his heart still drumming inside.  
  
The eerie dream was so realistic.... Frank shook his head, refusing to think about what it meant. 'It was just a dream, not a prophecy!...' He swallowed and turned his head to look at the digital alarm clock on the night table. 2.40. No matter he felt so shattered like he hadn't slept at all. Two hours were not enough for a good night's rest. He considered trying to go back to sleep, but decided against it.  
  
Frank got from under the blanket, tidied his wrinkled clothes and walked out of the room, hoping his father had some good news. He found him in the kitchen and sighed inwardly. No neat clothes and trim appearance could hide the worn-out and troubled expression on Fenton's face. His eyes were red, indicating he hadn't slept a wink, and his skin was an unhealthy shade of pale.  
  
"Hi, Dad," Frank greeted him.  
  
Fenton turned around and frowned at the sight of his son, "I didn't expect you up so early."  
  
Frank shook his head, "I can't sleep. I did doze off for some time, but woke up."  
  
His father eyed him for a few moment, then sighed, "Understandable.... Slept well?"  
  
"No," Frank replied, not going into details.  
  
"Stupid question," Fenton sighed and took a sip from his cup of coffee.  
  
"Any word on how things are going?" Frank asked hopefully.  
  
Fenton shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh, "I called Collig about an hour ago, he said that his officers are alerted to the situation, they are patrolling the streets."  
  
"And that's all?" Frank's eyebrows rose. At Fenton's slight nod he shook his head in dismay. "Unbelievable.... Any luck?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
There was a mist before Frank's eyes. Joe's been gone for almost eight hours now, it'd be a miracle if he was still alright, physically and emotionally. And if their surmise was correct, Chet had one chance in a trillion. 'Damnit, damnit, damni',' he thought, despair taking control of his mind. 'Damnit!...'  
  
"How are you?" Fenton asked softly, watching the pained expression on his son's face.  
  
"Are you leaving anywhere?" Frank asked instead of answering.  
  
His father nodded, "The police station."  
  
Frank waited for him to ask if he wanted to come along, but Fenton said nothing else, only looked aside under his son's inquiring stare. "Am I not invited?" Frank asked, trying to sound nonchalant.  
  
"Frank, there's nothing for you to do there," Fenton started.  
  
"Right, there's so much to do for me here, isn't it?" Frank sniggered.  
  
"Frank.... We've already talked about it," Fenton said tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "I know you want to help and I understand you want to be there to know the news immediately, but there really is nothing you can do there at the moment," he put a hand on his son's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "And I swear I'll call if anything."  
  
Frank felt like he was fourteen years back, when he had to ask parents' permission to do something, to plead his father to let him see how he captured bad people or to go with him to interrogate a criminal – Fenton never allowed that, of course, and that hurt the little boy's feelings. Was he not good enough? Was he useless? Why didn't Dad want him to go with him and help? He could help after all – he was a big boy, he was four!  
  
Years passed and Frank stood in the kitchen, feeling like a four-year-old, swallowing the insult of not being allowed to make himself useful. "You say there are police officers combing the town? Maybe, if Con's one of them, he'll let me ride with him?" he asked hopefully, keeping his resentment to himself.  
  
"I'll ask Collig and Con and if it's alright with them, then fine," Fenton nodded, yet rather reluctantly, or so it seemed to Frank. "Listen, I know you needn't my permission to get into the van and go searching on your own," he went on, reading his son's mind like an open book. "But there are two reasons why I want you home. First, I'm worried about you as much as I'm worried about Joe and knowing you're safe at home makes me feel better. Second, I need you home in case someone calls or something."  
  
"Did Newman ever call anyone?"  
  
"No, but besides him there are over six billion people in the world and anyone of them may call."  
  
"Speaking of that, have you talked to Mom yet?" Frank asked.  
  
Fenton's face saddened, "Not yet. It's too early in Oklahoma. Plus, I don't want to tell her anything until the situation clears. There's no need to worry her right now."  
  
Frank wondered what he was going to tell her if she called herself. The truth, probably, because he knew she'd guess something was wrong by his voice and demand to tell her everything.  
  
"Okay, I'll go," Fenton said when Frank remained silent. "You hold on here. Joe's gonna be home today."  
  
"I hope so," Frank replied quietly. "I hope so..."  
  
Fenton forced a smile for his son, "We'll get through his." Upon saying that, he patted Frank's shoulder and disappeared into the corridor.  
  
'We'll get through this. We will. Will Joe and Chet, though?...'  
  
Frank watched him go, a heavy feeling in his heart. He turned around and looked around the kitchen. Yesterday it was ordinary, today it seemed too big and empty without anyone to eat breakfast with. Breakfast. He felt sick at the thought.  
  
Pushing the bad thoughts off his mind, he left the kitchen and headed upstairs. Frank was half way up the staircase when he stopped. Never before had he been alone at three in the morning in his own home. Never before had the emptiness in his heart hurt so much.... So much that he desperately wanted to splash out all his anxiety and pain and fill the painful emptiness with peace and hope...  
  
He turned on his heels and went back downstairs and into the living room. He sat on the sofa and looked at the telephone, biting his lower lip in irresolution. What wouldn't he give away to hear it ring now and find someone on the other line who'd ask how he was doing and he'd just speak his pain-filled mind.... But the device was quiet.  
  
Was there anyone he could call at this hour? Laura Hardy? No, definitely no. Callie? No, it was midnight in California where she and Vanessa had gone four days ago to attend her cousin's wedding. His friends? No, simply no....  
  
Frank bowed his head into his hands, feeling even worse than before coming into the living room. He sat in complete silence for some time, trapped in his troubled thoughts. Fenton said they'd bring Joe home today. 'And what if they don't? What if they don't find them? What if it's already too late?... Stop it, Hardy!'  
  
Frank stood up and went up to his dimly lit room. Today's weather was no better than the previous days, the sky was covered with thick dark clouds and the wind was blowing drizzle against the window. Yesterday it seemed like normal autumn morning, today... Today everything was different.  
  
Exhaling loudly, Frank made his way into the bathroom to take the shower. Standing under the streams of hot water, he let his mind drift away again.  
  
'Almost ten hours. Ten hours with that madman.... And you're doing nothing, just stand here, feeling fine, waiting till your father brings him home. You could have searched half the town in your van long ago, instead you slept.... Jerk.... What could I do? Under the rain? At night? Alone?... Nothing.... Dad's right, there's nothing I can do, because police officers – many of them – are more useful than me alone.... Justifying yourself? It's your brother out there, maybe half his body gone, cut off!!...' Frank stared at the tiled wall in front of him. 'But there's also your friend in there.... Does it make you feel better that he may be the first to experience what Newman has for them? Because it gives you more time to stand in the shower, more time to find Joe?... Does it make you feel better?... DOES IT???!!'  
  
"No!!" Frank screamed at his inner voice, feeling tears in his eyes. "No..." he whispered. "No...it doesn't...."  
  
He knew all his friends since kindergarten, they grew up together, they all were as important to him as Joe. They were like brothers. Of course, they weren't as close as Joe, they couldn't be, but knowing they were in danger always frightened him just as much.  
  
"No...It doesn't make me feel better..." he whispered to no one, putting his face under the water to wash away the tears. "It doesn't make me feel better at all...."  
  
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Frank went to his room to get some fresh clothes, sniffing his nose every once in a while. He hated himself for falling apart like that, but emotions were taking him open and he just couldn't do anything to shut himself from them.  
  
He dressed and looked around, desperately hoping to see something that would take his mind off the anguished reality. His eyes stopped at the door to the bathroom, there he saw the other door that remained closed since yesterday's morning. It seemed so long ago, when Joe was in the next room and nothing beckoned horrible things to happen.  
  
'Don't go in there, you'll only drive yourself mad!'  
  
His feet were moving on their own... 


	12. chapter 12

Chapter 12  
  
Fenton Hardy left home with a heavy feeling in his heart. Leaving Frank alone at home when his brother was in grave danger was a very unkind idea, he knew. Had he been in his son's place, he'd be starting the van now and leaving to search for Joe, but he relied on Frank's common sense. Fenton could only imagine how nerve-wracking and slow waiting would be for him, but keeping him safe was more important now.  
  
Having one son kidnapped was intimidating, to put the other one in danger – and Fenton was positive Newman could abduct Frank – was a chance he didn't want to take. Halting the car at the red light signal, the man sighed heavily and rubbed his weary eyes. His aching body was screaming for rest, his head felt so drowsy that he was afraid he'd doze off behind the wheel. He was drained of energy, but as long as he had even little strengths left, he wasn't going to stop. Getting Joe home was much more significant than getting rest for himself.  
  
He promised Frank he'd bring Joe home. Misery seized his soul at the thought. How could he knew he'd be able to keep his promise? Ten hours have passed, that was way too much to be sure Newman hadn't yet done anything to his son. He swallowed. If Newman hadn't yet done anything to his son, what about Chet?  
  
Fenton shook his head, getting rid of the mist before his eyes, and started the car when the light switched to green. His sons and Chet Morton grew up together. He was calming himself with thinking that Joe might have still been alright, but...but could he be alright if Chet had been hurt? Chet, the brother of Iola?  
  
Fenton remembered the first couple of months after the explosion that took the young girl's life away when Joe had become withdrawn, shutting out everyone and everything in his life. Sometimes it looked he had recovered from her death, sometimes an invisible trigger would snap him back to those old days of desolation. And it broke the father's heart.  
  
Were the old days coming back to them? Fenton didn't know. He had a bad misgiving that even if his assumption about Chet was right it was too early to think about the future when the present was so vague.  
  
The cell phone in his pocket rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the display and his heart gave a jump inside. He hit the reply button.  
  
"Fent, I need you at the station immediately!" Collig's urgent voice boomed in his ear.  
  
"I'm almost there," Fenton replied, taking the left turn. The building of the police headquarters was less than half a mile ahead. "What happened?"  
  
"We think we know where he is!"  
  
Fenton felt waves of hope gush over him, "Where? And how?"  
  
"It's not a phone talk. I'm waiting at the entrance."  
  
Before Fenton had a chance to say anything the line went dead.  
  
~~ When the door to the basement flew open, Joe saw something glitter in the doorway and then a dark figure dashed into the room. Joe tensed up involuntarily, expecting anything from Newman, but to his utter terror it was Chet he ran to. "No! Don't touch him!" he shouted in despair, dreading that his worst fears were coming true. "Please, leave him alone!"  
  
But the man didn't even turn to look or snap at him, he wordlessly raised a knife above the defenseless teen...  
  
Eyes wide open in horror, Joe took his last chance to try and stop him, "Please, he's not to..." The knife in Newman's hands glittered once again as the holder lowered it. The rest of the sentence was deafened by a pain- filled scream from the other side of the room. And then there was silence....  
  
Joe snapped his eyes shut, unable to see it. He could still hear the piercing scream in his throbbing head, the echo was so strident and realistic that he desperately wanted to cover his ears, as if it could stop him from hearing the heart-wrenching yell in his mind, but when he tried to raise his arms the sharp pain in wrists reminded him of his immobility. Quieter and quieter, the echo soon died down in his mind. In the eerie silence he heard his heart drumming inside like mad, threatening to rip a hole in his chest and jump out.  
  
'No, Chet isn't...he isn't...he can't...he's not, is he?... No, don't look there!!' But the desire to check was too strong, his eyes opened despite of his inner voice's warning. The next second he felt an invisible hand grip his heart when he saw the limp form in the opposite corner in ever growing puddle of dark liquid. "Oh my.... No..." Joe shook his head, unable to take his eyes off Chet, desperate to notice a slightest sing on life. "Chet?..." he called weakly.  
  
Suddenly the view was blocked by the tall dark figure and Joe's heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat, he tensed up all over, paralyzed with panic. Was Newman going to stab him now, too? Or was he going to...to do the same thing he did to those seven people? Or...  
  
Without a sound Newman leant down, the knife clutched in his hand, and Joe started to tremble involuntary. He squeezed his eyes shut, doing his utmost to control himself, but it was fright taking control of him. 'Stop, it Hardy! Stop your cowardly behavior! You must stay strong! You're not going to scream no matter how painful it will be, you won't give him the satisfaction to hear you cry', Joe's mind was shouting inside his head. 'You should...'  
  
He winced, barely able to keep himself from crying out, as he felt the knife cut the skin on his right ankle. Feeling his heart beat madly against his ribs, Joe was breathing hard. Before he could compose himself for what he thought would come next, he felt another cut – this time on his left ankle. 'Please, somebody, I need somebody here right now so much....'  
  
He recoiled in his chair when Newman half-rose and inserted the blade between the twine around Joe's right wrist and the skin. "Wh-what are you doing?" Joe managed weakly, watching him.  
  
"Shut your mouth!" Newman hissed and sliced the rope, making the teen flinch. "Why are you..." Joe started, but stopped when he felt the sharp tip of the knife under his chin. "You say one more word and you regret it at once!" the man snapped at him. Joe daren't even breathe, so Newman went on, cutting the rope on Joe's left wrist.  
  
Joe frowned, why was he being freed? And why was he obviously in such a hurry? 'As if he is...' Joe cried out when without warning Newman grabbed Joe's right hand and yanked him to his feet. A rampant twinge raged though his veins, leaving him breathless. The next second his knees gave way under him...  
  
"Get up!" Newman unceremoniously caught Joe by left elbow and pulled him back to his shaky feet. "Move!"  
  
Joe had sat motionlessly for many hours and his muscles had become too stiff to support his weight, so his knees gave way under him again and he fell to the hard floor. "I said get up!" Newman hissed at him. He grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back to his feet. "Get going!" he pushed Joe in the back toward the stairs.  
  
Barely able to stand on his feet, Joe made two steps forward when he stumbled over a roughness on the floor and would have fell down again if Newman hadn't caught him by the shirt. "Damn you, move!" Newman growled at him and dragged the faltering teen up the stairs.  
  
Joe did his best to move his legs to stop himself from stumbling and hitting the stairs with his knees, but Newman was in such a hurry that he simply couldn't catch up. Every time he fell, gasping in sharp pain in his battered knees, Newman would pull him back by the collar and drag him further upstairs. By the time they reached the top Joe barely felt any of his limbs that were throbbing with ache.  
  
Once on the even surface, Newman yanked him towards the exit, cursing at Joe's staggering and uncooperative movements. They hobbled outside and Joe fell to his knees again when fresh morning air burst into his lungs, causing a bout of coughing that was leaving him weaker and weaker with each ragged breath.  
  
"Stop it!!" Newman shrieked, tugging at his collar to pull him to his feet, and slapped him hard. "You're wasting my time!" Unable to keep his balance on his shaking legs, Joe fell to the muddy ground.  
  
Newman growled and hauled at his clothes again. Still coughing like mad in the cold air and clutching his throbbing right hand in his left, Joe felt being dragged on the damp slippery surface. He desperately wanted to muster his strengths and make it difficult for Newman to lug him like that, but the spasms of coughing wouldn't stop, draining all the energy out of him. Helpless, he could only move his legs on the mud, yet he knew it wouldn't stop Newman.  
  
He looked around to see a whirl of dark colors in front of his misty eyes. His breath caught in his throat as Newman dropped him to the ground, knocking the sense out of the battered teen. "We'll just make it simple," the blurry face with angered features in front of Joe's nose said.  
  
Newman grabbed Joe by the hair and pulled his head up, forcefully sending it back down. He watched in satisfaction as the teen's body went limp and dragged Joe to the boot of the car. Picking the motionless body, he placed him inside and shut the lid, leaving a chink so he wouldn't suffocate during the ride. He then ran to the front of the car, climbed behind the wheel and sped the vehicle out of the place.  
  
~~  
  
The tires of the black sedan squealed as the driver hit the brakes. Fenton Hardy emerged from the car to the Chief who was hurrying from the building of the headquarters to the parking lot. "In there!" he pointed at the police car that stood nearby and rushed there.  
  
"What's going on?" Fenton asked breathlessly, climbing onto the back seat with Collig.  
  
"Willow road, hurry up!" the Chief ordered the driver, a young police officer behind the steering wheel who nodded and the next second the car tore along the parking lot and onto the main road. "A housebreaking attempt at a repair shop. Fortunately the signalling worked before he could do anything, but the guard discerned his car – a dark green sedan – and reported to the police."  
  
"Newman?"  
  
"Yes," Collig nodded. "There are two our cars following him now."  
  
"He saw where he went?" Fenton asked, his mouth suddenly dry.  
  
"Yes, Willow road. You know the area – desolated and the woods are dense there, but we figured out there can be only four places Newman could go to," the Chief put a hand on the detective's shoulder. "We'll catch him, Fenton."  
  
Fenton nodded, his heart racing inside. He only prayed it wouldn't be too late for the boys when they'd catch him... 


	13. chapter 13

Chapter 13  
  
Three men rode in silence for a few minutes. Chief was lost in thinking, judging by the look on his face, the young officer behind the wheel was busy driving as fast as possible down the wet road at night, Fenton...Fenton was simply staring out of the window, afraid to think what they could find when arriving to the hut in the woods.  
  
According to Collig, Newman sped off the moment he noticed a police car following him. There was no doubt he hadn't gone in any other direction other than to the house he was keeping the boys at. Fenton closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. 'What if he was finishing his business now?' A chill ran down his spine.  
  
A monotone melody brought him back to reality and he turned his head to look at the Chief who was pressing his phone against his ear.  
  
"Yes?" he said into the phone. The expression on his face was unreadable while he listened to the caller. "You went inside?"  
  
Fenton's heart skipped a bit.  
  
"And?" Collig glanced at Fenton who was staring at him, fear and anxiety in his eyes. "Not there," he heaved a sigh, looking aside. "And the other kid?"  
  
Fenton fought the desire to snatch the phone from the Chief's hands to talk to the caller himself, desperate to hear the news, because the scraps of conversation weren't giving him any idea who was 'not there' and who was 'the other kid'. Trepidation started to gnaw at his heart as he watched Collig's face pale.  
  
"What's going on there?" he demanded, unable to wait any longer.  
  
"Damn it...." He heard the Chief say into the phone, a deep wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. "You called the ambulance?...Good. Are there any traces left, indicating where he might.... Following them? Hurry up, they must be found!" he ended the call. "Edgewood lane!" he leaned to the driver's seat to direct the officer who nodded in reply.  
  
"What is it?" Fenton asked huskily, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.  
  
The Chief leaned back and licked his lips, "They got there, but Newman had already left," he swallowed before going on. "Apparently with Joe because they only found Chet in the basement."  
  
Fenton stared at him, pop-eyes, letting the news sink in.  
  
"There are traces left on the ground, they're following them," Collig explained. "I don't think he could go very far, so...so we have good chances of catching him."  
  
"He left with Joe? Where are they heading?"  
  
"Looks like north."  
  
Fenton's face turned as white as sheet. "Ezra, there are hairpin bends there."  
  
The Chief opened his mouth to ask why it worried the detective so much, but then remembered that Newman had often been fined for careless driving. Moreover, it was the car accident thanks to which the police caught him seven years ago. He found no words to say to his friend.  
  
"Is he hurt?" Fenton asked, praying for the negative answer.  
  
"Joe? They say it doesn't look like it," Collig replied and smiled meekly as the detective let out a sigh of relief, but then his face turned serious again, "But Chester..."  
  
The grim expression replaced the happy look on Fenton's face. "Chet?" in the moment of joy he had completely forgotten about the friend of his children's. "W-what? I mean...did he...." A cold and dreadful sensation started to grip his insides at the horrible anticipation.  
  
"The ambulance is on its way," Collig said quietly.  
  
"Did...did he?..."  
  
"No, no, it's not what you though. He was stabbed," The chief said gloomily. "But he's alive."  
  
All the color drained from Fenton's face. "Is he going to make it?" he managed in a quiet quivering voice.  
  
"I hope he is."  
  
A strange feeling started to eat at Fenton. Was it guilt? It wasn't his fault Chet had been kidnapped, it wasn't him who directed Newman into doing that to the boy. But it was him Newman was desperate to take revenge on, Chet had nothing – should have had nothing – to do with it... How was he supposed to look the elder Mortons in the eyes now? Even if Chet survived?  
  
His feet were moving on their own.  
  
Frank went through the adjoining bathroom to the door. As if bewitched, he turned the door handle and peeped inside. He couldn't resist it. Pain seizing his heart, he went inside and looked around the untidy room.  
  
Joe always preferred his mess to Frank's order. "After all, what's the difference if I can find my socks – one near the drawer and the other one under the bed – as quickly as you can get both of them simultaneously from your wardrobe?" Joe's voice rang in his ears, making him smile at the memory.  
  
He sat on the unmade bed and looked around. Joe was everywhere in the room – in the stack of books on the table, in the chair with a heap of clothes upon it, in the things lying everywhere on the floor, in the pile of comics on the night table. "Big kid," Frank chuckled half-heartedly and half- bitterly.  
  
He closed his eyes and stretched on the bed. 'If you come back, I swear, I'll never complain about walking into your room and tripping over something.... When you come back... Because you are coming back home.  
  
'Aren't you?'  
  
Stifling. It was so stifling that it was hard to breathe. Each gulp of stuffy air was making his throat dry and ticklish. What wouldn't he give away now for a swallow of fresh air!...  
  
Stifling, confined and shaking – those were the first sensations Joe Hardy felt after he had come to a little while ago. His throbbing head was nearly killing him, it took him some time to realize he must be in a car – at least the last thing he could remember was being dragged by Newman on wet dirt to a vehicle. Only judging by how dark, stuffy, confined, bumpy and thus uncomfortable it was he guessed he was in a boot of a moving car.  
  
'Where the hell is he ta-...' Joe swore to himself when shaking was replaced by a jolt and he hit his head against something, '...-taking me? And why?... And what's the sound?' he wasn't sure if he wasn't hearing things, his head felt so heavy and the buzz in his ears was so loud that it could possibly be his imagination. But the sound was getting louder with each passing second. 'No, it's sirens! It is!' Distant, muffled sound – but it was of sirens! The police was pursuing Newman!  
  
There was another jolt and Joe saw stars in front of his eyes. 'Please, stop him! Catch him! Please, get me out of here! Don't let him get away... You gotta help Chet! He's hurt, he needs help!...Or maybe... No....He cannot be, I know he....'  
  
A powerful jolt interrupted his thoughts at once. What happened after that, he didn't know. He hit his head again and then –  
  
Then he thought the world had turned upside down....  
  
Horror-stuck, Fenton Hardy stared at the site.  
  
The dimness of the early morning was disturbed by red and blue flashing lights of the three police cars that stood ahead of them on the road, their headlights lighting the dell that was to the left of Edgewood lane. The dented dark-green sedan was lying on the right side in the mud of the hollow, smoke was still emitting from under the hood.  
  
His hands shaking, Fenton opened the door to his side and climbed out of the car, never taking his widened eyes off the crash site. It was less than five minutes ago when Collig had answered a call from one of the officers who had been pursuing Newman. He said that he had lost control of the car on the wet asphalt and it swerved off the road. Fenton had tried to prepare himself for what he was going to see, but nothing could prepare him for the cold sensation that ran through his body as he saw people in uniforms, who had arrived at the site before them, lean over two motionless bodies that they had taken out of the wrecked car.  
  
His legs gave way under him. "Joe..." a hoarse whisper left his parched mouth. "Joe!!"  
  
A second later his legs were carrying him down the slope. He was barely able to keep his balance on the slippery leaves-covered ground and the champing mud beneath his feet. He hurriedly crossed the ruts left by the sedan when it had veered off the road and fallen down, rolling over a few times before halting in the dirt, and ran to his son as fast as his legs could carry him.  
  
"What's with him? Is he alive?" he demanded breathlessly of the two police officers who had been checking the unmoving teen.  
  
"He's unconscious, but he's breathing steadily and his pulse is quite strong," one of them replied. "Looks like he has a couple of ribs broken and...."  
  
Fenton never heard the rest of his explanation as he dropped to his knees next to his son and looked into the bruised face. "Joe? Joe, can you hear me?" he called, his voice wavering with concern. "Joey, it's Dad, please, do you hear me?"  
  
But Joe didn't stir, his eyes remained closed. Swallowing, Fenton reached out his arm to take Joe's hand and check the pulse himself and froze for a moment. "Oh, thank God!.." he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw that Newman hadn't started to do anything to his son. He took the limp cold hand in his and his fingers almost touched the wrist when he noticed the red line on the purplish skin. Anger started to build inside of him when he gingerly placed a finger above the wound and found steady beating.  
  
Relieved and pained at the same time, Fenton squeezed the mud-covered hand and brought it to his chest. His heart racing inside, he leaned down and felt the lump in his throat literally smother him as he saw the dirt and blood stained face. There were cuts and bruises on Joe's pale face, his damp hair was covered in mud. "Joey?" he tired calling again. "Please, open your eyes..."  
  
Joe's lips were turning bluish, Fenton took off his jacket and wrapped it around his son to keep him warm. He was struggling with desperate yearning to pull him into a hug, Joe looked so fragile and he was afraid his touch could cause more injuries. Concern was replaced by fear as Fenton kept on calling his name, but receiving no response from him.  
  
"How is he?" asked a sudden voice behind his back.  
  
Fenton turned his head and saw the Chief standing next to him. Swallowing, he shrugged his shoulders, "He's breathing and his pulse is okay," he said quietly, trying to keep his tone even. "Joe, do you hear me?... Joe?... He's not responding..." his lower lips trembled tell-tally.  
  
Collig looked at him sympathetically. "The ambulance is on its way, they'll be here in a couple of minutes," the Chief looked at the motionless teen and his face became wry. "Sorry they couldn't prevent it," he said, referring to the officers that were nearby.  
  
Fenton shook his head, "Not their fault..." A quiet bell rang in the back of his mind and he turned his head to look at the other unmoving form, lying not far from them. "Not their," his voice was suddenly hard.  
  
Before he could control it, he jumped to his feet and, oblivious to the surprised looks, ran to Newman, seething with sudden rage. In the blink of an eye he was on top of the criminal, his hands seizing hold of the collar of his jacket. "I'll kill you!! I'll kill you, bastard!!" Fenton shouted, furiously shaking the unconscious man. "I'll kill you for what you did to him!!" Still holding him with one hand, he pulled the other into a fist and aimed it at the bloodied face. "I'll...."  
  
A vice grip stopped him. "Don't, Fenton," Collig said firmly.  
  
"He. Tried. To kill. My. Boy!!" Fenton hissed between clenched teeth, his hand still firmly clenched into a fist and his knuckles white.  
  
"But he failed. Don't. He's not worth it."  
  
Fenton glared at the battered unconscious face of the criminal for a few more seconds, struggling with desire to hurt him as bad as he could, before finally growling and unclenching his fist. The grip on his right hand loosened and he used both hand to push the man to the ground with a thump. Hatred still raging inside of him, he spat at him and stood up.  
  
Being a PI, he had met many parents who wanted to tear the offenders of their children apart. Being a father of two sons, he always knew he'd want to do the same in their place.  
  
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths of chilly air in to calm himself. He flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder and opened his eyes. "You did the right thing," Collig said quietly. Fenton swallowed and nodded, though deep inside he felt he hadn't completed something important – something to avenge his son...  
  
The sound of sirens coming their way brought him back to reality. Right now his son didn't need him avenging. Swallowing his fury, Fenton hurried back to the motionless youth. Kneeling down, he gingerly took Joe's hand in his and patted it. "Help is coming," Fenton raised his head and saw paramedics emerge from the ambulance and hurry down the slope. "They're going to help you. Please, be okay... Please..." he touched the limp hand with his lips. "I love you," he whispered, looking into his face one last time before standing up to let paramedics work on him.  
  
He was standing aside, his hand over his mouth, watching two medics check Joe's vitals. Physically he was there, seeing and hearing everything, but mentally he was far away, his mind having drifted far away. It was only yesterday's morning that Joe was perfectly fine, smiling, talking, walking, joking about...what was that word? Milti...multi-something? Multiplier?... Fenton shook his head. It was only yesterday and yet so much has changed... "Are you his father?" a voice snapped him off his thoughts.  
  
Fenton looked at one of the medics, who had spoken to him, "Yes, how is he?"  
  
"He's stable for now, but he needs to be in emergency as soon as possible to avoid complications. We're taking him to Bayport Memorial."  
  
"Can I ride with him in the ambulance?" Fenton asked hopefully, watching them place Joe on a stretcher.  
  
"Sorry, there isn't enough room for you," the medic forced an apologizing smile for the father. "But don't worry, he's going to be okay."  
  
The medics lifted the stretcher off the ground and carried Joe to the ambulance. Fenton kept pace with them, afraid to leave Joe's side. But once on the road, he watched helplessly as they took him inside the car and closed the door.  
  
Letting out a heavy sigh, he took out his cell phone and dialed home phone number. He knew Frank was desperate to hear the news. 


	14. chapter 14

Chapter 14  
  
"Dad?" Frank Hardy called breathlessly, running into the waiting room of Bayport Memorial and recognizing at once Fenton Hardy's fine figure among other 6 people in the room in this small hour.  
  
The older man raised his head and forced a waned smile for his son, "Hi, Frank," he said. "You're quick."  
  
"How is he? What did they say?"  
  
Fenton nodded at the plastic seat next to him, beckoning him to sit down "Have a seat. He's still in ER, so I know nothing yet."  
  
Frank let out a disappointed sigh, "What did they say? Is he going to be alright?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing seemed too serious, so they said he was going to be fine," his father said with a smile and put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Thank heavens! While I was rushing here I had so many terrible assumption cross my mind..." Frank looked down at his hands, they were still trembling, giving away his anxiety. "What happened? And how? You said it was an accident of some kind, right?"  
  
"Right," Fenton leaned back in his chair, "Roughly speaking, apparently Newman didn't have anything to-to do you know what, so he went to get some, well, 'tools'. But it was dead of night and all shops were closed, so-"  
  
"He decided to rob one?" Frank guessed, raising his eyebrows. At his father's nod he shook his head in disbelief. "Isn't it a stupid thing to do when the police is looking for you?"  
  
"I can't disagree with you," Fenton said with a meek smile, "but then again it's thanks to his stupidity and haste that it's over now. Anyway, after he tried to break into one shop and the signaling went off, he went to try another one. At the same time the police went to check the first shop and it wasn't too far from where he'd gone, so when the same thing repeated they were quick enough to tail him."  
  
"But Joe wasn't there with him, was he?"  
  
Fenton shook his head, "No. Newman rushed into the woods, breaking away from the police at one point. When they discovered where he'd gone to, he was already speeding away from that small hut, with Joe in the boot of the sedan...."  
  
"Wait, and Chet?" Frank asked, afraid to hear the answer. "What about Chet?"  
  
"Chet is in the operating theatre at the moment with several stab wounds," Fenton replied gloomily.  
  
"What?" Frank's voice was barely a whisper.  
  
"I don't know how serious they are, but..." Fenton bit his lip and looked aside. "I'd love to say that I'm glad it's only stab wounds and nothing else, considering what could have happened, but-but somehow it doesn't make me feel much better."  
  
Frank eyed him for some time, recalling the conversation with his inner voice less than an hour ago when he felt guilt gnawing at him. He still felt remorseful, though he knew he had nothing to be blamed for. There were things he just couldn't control – like predicting and changing the future, knowing in advance that something terrible was going to happen and doing his utmost not to let it happen. But at times like this he wished he could.  
  
"Do his parents know?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Yes. I met them when I arrived here. They're in the waiting room on the 4th floor," Fenton replied. "We didn't talk much."  
  
Frank was silent for a moment, trying to imagine himself in their place – what could he possibly say if his son was on the operating table? And the answer was – probably nothing. "Were they, like, angry with you for what had happened? Or us, to be more precise?" he asked.  
  
"Nervous, Frank, they were nervous. When your kid's having a surgery you only feel nervous, trust my experience. Anger comes later... I just hope he'll make it."  
  
"I hope so, too," Frank said. Awkward silence fell between them. "So..." Frank said moments later, feeling uncomfortable in such quiet. "What happened after that? After he sped away from the hut?"  
  
"Then..." Fenton closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "Then they caught up with him, but he lost control of the car and crashed...." He shook his head and opened his eyes, trying to get rid of the memory of the wrecked car in the dell. "That's the story."  
  
Frank was watching him for some time, a questing bugging him. He opened his mouth to ask, but didn't found courage to speak.  
  
"Just say or ask," Fenton told him, a faint smile touching his lips.  
  
"Do you always notice every slightest movement?" Frank asked. His father nodded his head, making Frank smile, he could only dream of being so observant. But then his smile disappeared as he brought himself to ask the question. "I was- was wondering if you... Did you know what was happening when you were leaving?"  
  
Fenton looked at his son, "No, Frank, I didn't. I was near the station when Collig called me. And fifteen minutes later and I phoned you."  
  
...In the silence of the empty house the sound of the phone starting to ring downstairs seemed deafeningly loud. It snatched Frank off the miserable thoughts he had been abandoning to. What happened after was a vague memory, so fast it had happened – his father's concerned voice, telling him to go to the hospital, the door closing with a thud, the creak of the tires as he sped out of the driveway, a whirl of blue-grayish colors of the town as he flew down the empty road, then a strong smell of antiseptic, hitting his nostrils...  
  
"You thought I knew and left you?" Fenton asked, snapping Frank out of his memories.  
  
Frank swallowed and looked down at his hands, feeling too uncomfortable to answer. He heard a sigh and felt his father's arm around his shoulder.  
  
"I didn't know, son. I really didn't," he said quietly. "Besides, it'd be obvious if I knew, so you wouldn't have to ask."  
  
Frank bit his lower lip, feeling small. Could he really doubt his father? "I know, Dad..." he sighed heavily. "Sorry. I guess I'm just going crazy after tonight."  
  
"We all are. It's been such a night."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"'s okay."  
  
Frank laid his head on his father's shoulder and closed his eyes. It has been such a night. It must be about four in the morning, no wonder he felt so shattered that he could barely stay awake. The waiting room was quiet, except for muffled voices of other people and soft rustle of the hospital which was unusually calm in the morning....  
  
Frank didn't know how long he had been in this drowsy state of mind, not asleep, but not fully awake, when something brought him back to his senses. He half-opened his eyes, blinking at the light, and looked around, but then realized it must have been soft footsteps approaching that had awakened him and looked at the door.  
  
Moments later a man in a doctor's smock appeared in the doorframe. "Anyone here for Joseph Hardy?", he asked, looking around the waiting room.  
  
Frank and Fenton jumped to their feet. "Yes, how is he?" Fenton asked, coming to the doctor.  
  
"I'm doctor Farmington," the dark-haired brown-eyed man in his early 40s introduced himself. "I have treated your?..."  
  
"Son," Fenton told him.  
  
"Your son. Fortunately, his injures weren't too serious, especially considering the circumstances he had received them under. He has a concussion and three ribs broken and those were the worst things. Also, he has a cold from over-cooling and several cuts and bruises, some of them are nasty, but they'll heal eventually. That's about it."  
  
"Is he going to be okay?" Frank asked hopefully.  
  
"Definitely," Dr. Farmington nodded. "I'd say he'll be perfectly fine within a week or so, but I want to keep him for a few days to make sure he's healing normally."  
  
"Can we see him?"  
  
"Yes, of course. He's in room 212. He's sleeping now, but I expect him to wake up soon."  
  
"Thank you, doctor," Fenton thanked him, smiling in relief at the news.  
  
Dr. Farmington smiled back at them and nodded, "I have to go to other patients now," he excused himself and disappeared in the corridor.  
  
A couple of minutes later the two stood at the door to the room 212. Fenton turned the door handle and noiselessly opened the door, looking inside with a sinking heart.  
  
Joe was lying on the hospital bed in a dotted white hospital gown, covered up to his chest with a blanket, his eyes were closed and his head was tilted a little. If it weren't for bandages around both his wrists, the IV attached to his left arm and bluish bruises on his pale face and arms, it'd seem as if he were sleeping peacefully.  
  
Frank swallowed, wondering if Joe would be able to sleep peacefully for a long time after such a nightmare. He and Fenton quietly walked in, afraid to disturb Joe's rest. Neither of them said a word for some time, just looking at the still form on the bed.  
  
Fenton remembered the previous morning and sighed inwardly. Strange how things can change in just a day. Yesterday you smiled and laughed, having no care in the world, today you shudder at the thought how close you have come to losing someone. Had they not been fast enough to stop Newman...he shook his head, getting rid of the thought.  
  
He looked at his elder son and put an arm around his shoulders, "Everything is going to be fine now," he said quietly.  
  
Frank forced a smile for him and nodded, "Just as you promised."  
  
"It's not my merit it ended without- ended like this," Fenton said and Frank thought he had heard sadness in his voice.  
  
"You don't give yourself enough credit," he told him.  
  
Fenton smiled ruefully at that. "I guess it's time to call Mom," he changed the topic, his voice a bit glum. He knew Laura wouldn't be happy to hear the news. At Frank's nod, he patted him on the back, "I'll be back in 10 minutes, okay?"  
  
When left alone with his brother, Frank went to sit down on a chair near the bed and watched his brother for a while. They were lucky this time. Again. Lucky to live though the hazardous night, safe and sound, alive and in one piece. He gently took Joe's limp hand in his and smiled at his brother. "I'm so happy you're back with us," he whispered.  
  
Deep inside he hoped Joe would hear him and answer, but he was deeply asleep and Frank didn't mind. Not letting go of his hand, he rested his head on the rail board of the bed.  
  
He never noticed how sleep welcomed him. 


	15. chapter 15

Chapter 15  
  
The desire to scratch his itching wrists was getting irresistible, but Joe Hardy still felt too weak to struggle with invisible grips that wouldn't let him move and do something about his tickly problem. He had woken up a few minutes ago to the mix of strange, yet very familiar smells, the pleasurable coolness of the surroundings, distant and muffled sounds – and horrible heaviness in his whole body that he could do nothing about.  
  
Joe sighed inwardly, hating to be unable to do anything. But the itchy feeling became so unendurable that he did his utmost to collect his strengths and try to rub his wrists against something he felt he was lying on when suddenly-  
  
He suddenly froze. Something had moved on his stomach, and he daren't breathe. The movement stopped a moment later and Joe lay still for a few moments, when nothing happened he peeped his eyes open. Everything was swimming out of focus and it took him some time to adjust his vision and distinguish something dark lying still on his abdomen. He peered at it and then a weak smile touched his lips.  
  
"Frank?" Joe couldn't recognize his own voice which was barely a whisper. Rasping, it left a sore feeling in his throat.  
  
Frank didn't stir to the scarcely audible voice calling him. Joe looked around the room – white walls, soft light, a bed he was lying on under a bluish blanket, an IV stand to his left – and frowned. Hospital. He was in hospital. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened that lead him to being on a hospital bed again and then his eyes suddenly flew open.  
  
"Frank!" he called anxiously a bit louder this time, oblivious to the pain in his vocal chords. "Frank!..."  
  
He saw his brother's eyelids flutter and then a pair of tired eyes looked at him. Confused at first, the look in them was replaced by happiness the next second. "Joe, you aw-..."  
  
"Chet?" Joe asked hoarsely, interrupting him in mid-sentence.  
  
"What?" Frank knitted his eyebrows in confusion.  
  
"Did they find him? Did they find Chet?"  
  
"Find Chet?... Oh, yeah, yes, sure. He's going to make it, don't worry," Frank assured him. At Joe's sigh of relief, he rubbed his eyes and smiled, "I must have fallen asleep again. When did you wake up? I mean- how are you feeling?"  
  
"Dead beat," Joe made a grimace. "How long have I been here?"  
  
"Since today's morning, so it's seven hours or so ," Frank replied and raised from his seat. "Your doctor asked to call him when you'd wake up. You stay awake and I'll be back in no time."  
  
"Stay a few more days under observation," Joe mimicked the doctor, causing his brother to sneer, and sighed. "I wanna go home."  
  
Frank smiled sympathetically at him, "You will in a few days. After all it's done for your own good. I know," he raised a hand before Joe had a chance to object, "I know that you feel alright, but doctors orders should be followed."  
  
"Talk about free will in our times of freedom of action," Joe muttered under his breathe in reply.  
  
The brothers were left alone after Dr. Farmington had finished examining Joe and his verdict seemed too bleak to the patient – three or four more days in hospital under observation and then bed rest at home.  
  
"Do you feel comfortable?" Frank asked, changing the subject.  
  
"My bed at home is better," Joe replied, shifting on the bed when feeling a wrinkle under his back. "But yes, I feel fine, especially after...." He paused awkwardly and bit his lower lip. "Especially after everything," he finished quietly. "You know, I actually think any position except sitting on a chair will seem fine for a long time now."  
  
Frank said nothing to that, having a feeling his brother wanted to let his emotions out.  
  
"Gosh, Frank, he was such a psycho," Joe said quietly and shook his head, looking aside. "It's a miracle I'm here, safe and sound, and Chet is alive."  
  
Silence fell between them while Joe was lost in his sad thoughts and Frank was waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, he gently took his left hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "He's in the past," he said softly. "And you and Chet are going to be alright and that's the most important thing."  
  
"Where's he now?" Joe asked. "Newman, I mean."  
  
"Dad said he was in hospital – not this hospital, of course," Frank quickly added, seeing horror cross his brother's face. "And when he gets better he's going back to prison."  
  
"Good. Because that's where he belongs....How is Chet doing? Is he really going to be alright?" Joe looked pleadingly at his brother.  
  
"Doctors don't rule out any possible complications, but so far he's been stable, so they're quite optimistic about him."  
  
Joe let out a heavy sigh, "This is so unfair, isn't it? That's what I was thinking about back then when we were there and it was driving me mad. When you or I get kidnapped or threatened or worse - hurt, it's one thing, but our friends – what for?"  
  
"You know what for. Because it's the easiest way to hurt someone. Especially when that someone is there to see it all."  
  
"Chet said the same thing, but I still can't accept it. I mean if you're having trouble with me, sort it out with me, but don't attract my friends to it."  
  
"Joe, people like that don't care what is right, fair, decent and what is not," Frank said. "So you can as well stop asking questions like 'why?' and demanding decency. There's no way to persuade them, to explain that what they're doing is wrong and immoral – they won't understand because they don't want to listen."  
  
"But it's not right!"  
  
"It's not. But that's why there are people like Dad, like you and I, like Chief Collig and many others, right?" Frank said with a smile. "And when things like this happen they should only encourage us to work faster and more effective to save those we care about."  
  
Joe eyed him for a few moments, then looked down at his hands, "But sometimes we fail to save someone," he said quietly, swallowing.  
  
"No one is omnipotent, Joe. I'm not, you're not, Dad's not – no one is. Sometimes we fail and it happens against our will. There are limits to what we can do. And there's no point in blaming yourself for that."  
  
"I know all that, but.... Frank, there was one moment when I woke up and heard him tell Chet that he would be the first to experience all he had planned for us. And then he left and I prayed he wouldn't do it to Chet when he returned. Because I knew I wouldn't be able save him. And it...it was a horrible feeling of complete helplessness, of dependence on someone who might be too late to come and save him...." Joe's voice quieted down to a trembling whisper. "And I feel so bad about it now, truth be told..."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I want to be a detective, I'm supposed to be bold and brave and strong-"  
  
"Hardy, in one word," Frank said with a smile.  
  
Joe forced a weak smile for him which vanished as quickly as it had come, "Hardy, in one word. And when I get into a really hazardous situation I.... Newman had me freakened out just by walking into the room, so when I heard him say that.... I tried to free myself, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn't," his looked at the bandaged around his wrists and he instinctively scratched them, "and then I knew I could only wait, because there was nothing I could personally do. And I was mad about it... And it's bad."  
  
"Is it really?" Frank raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I'd say it's natural. Everyone hates to be unable to do anything to get them out of danger. And to fail to protect their friends or relatives. The most important thing in times like that is to trust and rely on people who are looking for you and keep your head cool."  
  
"That's the worst thing, Frank," Joe said sadly, not looking at his brother. "Not only did I fail to protect him-"  
  
"Sorry to interrupt, but it wasn't your fault, you didn't ask for such a thing to happen with you and Chet, so don't upbraid yourself for that."  
  
Joe sighed heavily, "He was so calm, Frank, as if we were staying for a night in some motel and there was no danger.... And you know the worst thing? He had to calm me down, because I was so afraid I was losing my mind – and I was furious because I couldn't help it... Well, let's just say it was a difficult night for Chet who had to tolerate my- my breakdown under those circumstances. I won't be surprised if he'll be dashing off from a coward like me upon seeing me from now on."  
  
"No, he won't. Because he's a smart guy and he knows that you weren't furious at him, but at the whole situation you could do nothing about. And it's not cowardice. All this night I was going crazy at home, waiting for the news, but doing nothing, because as much as I detested to admit it but there was nothing I could do, to help the situation," Frank said with a hint of sadness to his voice. "But you won't ignore me and consider me a coward, will you?"  
  
"No, of course, no."  
  
"See? And anyway - "None but a coward dares to boast he has never known fear"," Frank said solemnly. Catching his brother's stunned glance, he reddened, "It's not my words. I don't remember who said that."  
  
Joe's lips curved into a smile, "Geez, Frank, I was so afraid that I won't be there to see you again, to hear your abstruse things....and that even if I do see and hear you I'll be in such a state that I'd be a burden upon everyone...."  
  
"Don't talk rubbish, you could never become a burden. It's your disappearance from our lives that would be a burden," Frank replied softly. "You know, I'm so happy you're going to be okay," he leaned down and put his arms around his brother and held him tightly.  
  
"And I am happy to make you happy that I'm going to be okay, too," Joe said with a chuckle. "Ouch, don't squeeze me like this, you'll break my ribs. Besides I'm your brother, not a lover."  
  
"What a boor you are!" Frank let him go and shook his head. "Wait till Mom gets here before you call it 'squeeze like this'. Dad's gone to pick her up from the airport, so they should be here any moment now."  
  
The next second both of them turned to look at the door, hearing approaching steps and muffled, but familiar voices at the door.  
  
"You're a harbinger, did you know?" Joe said and the next moment smiled at his overjoyed parents who had entered the room and rushed to hug him. 


	16. conclusion

Chapter 16  
  
"Oh man, I thought this day would never come," Joe beamed, accepting the package Frank had brought from home and looking inside. "Mmm, my favorite stripy socks!"  
  
Frank smiled at his brother's joy, "They were the only clean ones that I could find. Do you need help?"  
  
"No, thanks, I'll manage. But if you could, you know...." Joe gave him a beseeching look.  
  
"Got it," Frank nodded his head and turned to look out of the window while his brother was dressing up. Over the years he had got used to Joe's discomfort of being barely dressed when someone was near.  
  
"Who's come to get me?" Joe asked from behind. "You and Dad?"  
  
"Yep, Dad's filling in the discharge forms at the moment and Mom and Aunt stayed at home to make dinner. From what I know we'll have shepherd's pie tonight."  
  
"Aww, shepherd's pie, get me home quick! I only hope there's no kind of party planned, is there?" Joe asked. "Or people coming for dinner?"  
  
"No, why?"  
  
"Because if anyone else says how glad he is that everything ended so well..." there was a heavy sigh. "I just don't think I want to hear it."  
  
Frank only smiled in reply. It's been four days since the terrific night that had almost cost Joe and Chet their lives, what it was that saved them – he didn't know, but he was grateful that everything ended the way it did. So were other many people who had been visiting and telling Joe about it for the past four days and Frank was not surprised to hear that Joe was tired of it.  
  
"Okay, I'm ready," Joe finally announced. "God, I thought this day would never come..."  
  
Frank sighed to himself, wondering how soon he would get tired of hearing Joe repeat that line for umpteenth time today.  
  
Fenton Hardy was signing the discharge forms when a displeased familiar voice caught his attention. "I can perfectly walk on my own, who thought of this stupid rule that patients should be taken to the exit?!" Joe was complaining while Frank was pushing his wheelchair, trying to keep his face straight. Fenton smiled at his sons and passed the papers to the nurse at the desk.  
  
A minute later, after Joe was finally free to leave, the three Hardys were walking to the elevators and when there he coughed to draw his father and brother's attention, "Um, can you wait for a few more minutes?" he asked rather meekly. "I still haven't seen Chet?..."  
  
"Oh, sure, you needn't even ask," Fenton replied. "Frank will take you to him and I'll wait in the car, okay? Only don't take too long, there's a shepherd's pie for dinner today..."  
  
They separated and two minutes later Frank and Joe were on the fourth floor where they walked to the room 420.  
  
"Did he say anything about me?" Joe asked quietly on their way. "Chet I mean?"  
  
"Asked how you were and said he was glad to hear you were fine," Frank replied. "You still think he wants to chop your head off? Don't be silly. He'll be overjoyed to see you."  
  
Joe said nothing to that as they stopped in front of the door to the needed room.  
  
"I saw him only this morning, so I'll wait near the elevators while you sort everything out between yourselves – if there's anything to be sorted out at all," Frank said and winked at him. "Yell, if anything."  
  
Joe smiled at the last comment, watching his brother disappear down the corridor, then inhaled deeply. With a sinking heart, he knocked at the door and set it ajar, "Hi, may I come in?" he asked meekly, peeping in.  
  
Chet was half-lying on a hospital bed, surrounded by several medical devices, with a remote control in his hands. His face wore an expression of boredom and his eyes were fastened upon the screen of the TV set. When hearing a voice, he turned to look at the visitor and the next second his face brightened. "Joe?!" he beamed. "Sure, come on in!"  
  
"Hi," Joe said and quietly closed the door behind himself.  
  
"I'm so glad to see you! Wait – you're discharged?" Chet asked, noticing Joe's clothes for casual wear.  
  
"I am," Joe nodded with a sheepish smile, flopping down onto the chair next to his friend's bed. "They finally let me out of here just a few minutes ago."  
  
"Mmm, lucky you. And I'm stuck here for one more week or so. I'm already bored to death to watch all these stupid talk shows and commercials," Chet pointed his hand with the remote control in it at the TV screen where a grinning red-headed woman was hyping a new food processor. "They're going to continue to discuss if overweight people can wear sexy figure-hugging clothes.."  
  
Joe tittered, "Oh, yes, it's a very knotty topic, isn't it?"  
  
"I think so too, so I'm really happy you're here to keep me company. Gosh, I haven't seen you since then, how are you?" Chet asked, lowering the sound and turning his attention towards the visitor.  
  
"I'm fine, going home soon, as you know," Joe replied. "Sorry I couldn't come earlier, I wanted to, but they didn't let me get out of bed until five minutes ago."  
  
"Don't worry, Frank told why you couldn't come."  
  
"How've you been?" Joe asked. "Frank told me you were doing fine," he added with a smile.  
  
"Oh, good old Frankie, huh?" Chet smiled back. "Imagine a commercial 'Frank. Connecting people.'[1]." The two burst out laughing. "Only don't tell him I said that," Chet said moments later when they calmed down a bit. "But yes, I really am doing fine. It still hurts a little, but I'll be as good as new within a couple of weeks. Wish I could go home, too, but alas... Lucky you!"  
  
"Yeah, I thought this day would..." Joe never finished the sentence, frowning. "I wonder how many times I've said that today."  
  
"Many, I guess. I bet I'll be repeating the same thing over and over again when I'm out of here, too. By the way, thanks for looking in before dashing off home from this nasty place."  
  
"You're welcome. As I said I wanted to come earlier, but..." he sighed. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound left his lips.  
  
Chet eyed him for a few moments. "What was it that you wanted to say?" he asked when Joe remained silent.  
  
"The reason why I wanted to come. I-I've been wanting to say it for the past four days – sorry. About then. For- for getting on your nerves," Joe said ruefully.  
  
"Oh no, he's doing it again!" Chet rolled his eyes. "Joe, there's a cod being eaten by a shark in the Pacific Ocean at the moment, do you feel sorry for that, too?"  
  
"Chet, please, I'm serious."  
  
"So am I! I told you back then and I am telling you now that you're too attracted to all your 'sorries'. Let them all go and you'll be surprised how easier life can get."  
  
"But I was being nasty to you, wasn't I?"  
  
"Maybe, but that was understandable under those circumstances, wasn't it? And if I am not mistaken you apologized then, there's no need to do it every day, okay? Remember in the third grade I stained your bicycle with dirt for constantly tugging at Iola's plait?" Chet asked with a grin. "I hate to tell you this, buddy, but I don't still feel sorry about that. And if you expect me to tell you 'sorry about that' – forget it!"  
  
Joe couldn't help but smile in reply. "You know, the way you accept life, every good and bad thing in it fascinates me. Tell me your secret."  
  
"Secret? It's no secret, I'll tell you, if you want," Chet pushed himself into sitting position.  
  
"I'm all ears."  
  
"Just try to be serious. More or less at least."  
  
Joe put on a straight face, "Yes, teacher. I'm serious now."  
  
"You'll never change," Chet shook his head. "Anyway – now imagine that you have bought a lottery and won it."  
  
"Good beginning, go on," Joe said. "What's the prize?"  
  
"The prize is the most interesting thing. It is a daily bank account, but a very special one. Every morning that you wake up you check your account and find 86.400 dollars there."  
  
"86.400 dollars?? Woo-hoo, I like it!"  
  
"Naturally, but there are also two conditions. The first one is that every single cent that you don't spend during the next 24 hours is withdrawn."  
  
"What? Not fair!"  
  
"It's withdrawn and there's no way you can get it back. You can't cheat, like, transferring your money to another account, you can only spend it – on whatever you like. So at the end of the day there's a round zero on your account. But don't you worry, because the next morning it's gonna be full again – and you can again spend 86.400 dollars on all the things you want."  
  
"Got it," Joe nodded his understanding. "What's the second condition?"  
  
"The second condition is that the bank can stop adding money to your account any moment without a prior notification. Think about it – any moment it can say 'game's over' and close your account once and for all. So, the question is – what would you do if you had such an account?"  
  
Joe eyed him for several seconds, "There's a dirty trick, isn't there?"  
  
"Oh, please," Chet rolled his eyes, "give up all your detective ideas. Everything is absolutely fair. Just try to imagine, this is so simple. Every morning you have 86.400 dollars and you only have to spend them. And if you don't you'll never get any of your non-spent money back. Consider it a game. A game which can be over any moment. What would you do?"  
  
"Right, 86.400 dollars every day," Joe scratched his forehead, thinking. "Okay, I'd.... I can't save it for later?"  
  
"No, you can't."  
  
"Bad, I'd save some cash for college and other stuff I may need in the future. But since I can't... Alright, I'd buy everyone presents! Nice presents, things other people always wanted to have, but could never afford them. Then...then I'd buy something for myself, like...like a new car and a cool cell-phone and lots of other things. I'd travel around the world, see knew places, meet new people, learn something new... And I'd also do some charity, transfer some sums to organizations that help homeless people and animals, orphanages, to firms that sponsor medicine research and even protection of environment. What else?...." Joe was silent for some moments, lost in musing, then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what else. Now, what does it mean? Because there's no such bank."  
  
"There is and that's the most interesting thing," Chet said with a grin. "There's such a bank for everyone in the world. When we wake up it gives all of us 86.400 seconds of life for one day and when we fall asleep the stock of seconds is exhausted, what we don't spent during the day - it's lost forever. And every morning such magic starts again and again, we're given 86.400 seconds to live. And we play by the rules without even noticing it, there's no way we can cheat – we can't share our time with anyone else, no matter how much we'd want it, it's only our seconds to live; and 'the bank' can close your account any second and you won't know it – because no one can know in advance and warn you when your life is going to end.  
  
"The moral it simple – live your life to the fullest now. Spend every second of your life on all those things you named – gladden other people with gifts which can be not only material, just tell them that you care and it'll be the best gift; use your time to improve yourself; help everyone you can – and that's all while you can. Everyone would find millions of ways to spend of 86.400 dollars within one day without losing a cent, but few think of the ways how to spend 86.400 second of their life wisely, without letting go of a single moment .... That's about it," Chet finished somewhat bashfully, the top of his ears reddening.  
  
A little dumbfounded by what he'd heard, Joe studied his friend's face for some time, "Chet... Have-have you been studying philosophy lately or what?" he asked. It was the lamest thing he could say, he knew, but at the moment there were too many thoughts about what Chet had said to pass a smart thought-out comment. "I mean, first you tell me all those things back then in the basement, now this – I...I've just never known this 'philosophical' side of you."  
  
"Erm.... Consider me an all-round kind of person," Chet said, blushing even more. "Well, no, I haven't been studying philosophy, I just read it in one book half a year ago or so. I loved the idea so much that it literally became my personal business-plan for life. The book's called "If that were true" by Marc Levi, if you're interested. A really good book."  
  
"Definitely looks like it.... Mind if I borrow it from you once you're out of here?"  
  
"Liked the idea?" Chet beamed.  
  
"It's...I can't explain it. I've just never heard anything like this before and it's... Hard to explain, but yes, I liked the idea," Joe replied. "I'll definitely borrow it from you, if you don't mind, because...." A knock on the door interrupted him and he turned to look at the visitor. That was a doctor with his usual round who wanted to examine Chet. "Oh, how out of turn..."  
  
"Yeah, he's always coming in the middle of a very interesting conversation," Chet told him quietly so that the doctor couldn't hear him.  
  
"I guess all doctors do that. Well, I think I'll have to leave now, hopefully we can continue our conversation later," Joe said, rising from his seat. "I can come tomorrow if you like."  
  
"Sure. You're always a welcome visitor."  
  
"It's nice to hear. Thanks. And thanks for food for thinking."  
  
"My pleasure," Chet smiled at him. "Thanks for coming!"  
  
Joe was at the door when he stopped and turned around, "Chet? You know what? I think you're a great friend."  
  
Chet grinned in reply. "So you are. Have a nice day!"  
  
Still smiling, Joe exited the room and walked towards the elevators, unable to stop thinking about what Chet had said. '86.400 seconds, a lottery each and every one wins every day....' He suddenly stopped, frowning. How much time had he lost in vain? The time that could have been spent wisely? The time that he wasted, doing nothing or doing small, unimportant things when so much could have been done, should have been said?....  
  
But then his face brightened. There still were billions – trillions! – of seconds to live. A huge lot of 'prize-money' that he only had to spend shrewdly. And he only had to do delay the fulfillment of the second condition. 'So easy, so trivial yet so inspiring!...'  
  
With a light feeling in his heart, he continued walking. As he was passing a room he accidentally glanced through the open door and saw a teen of 13 or so years old. He was sitting in his bed and all his attention was riveted to the black-covered book, the red letters of the title literally screamed from the cover "The Bermuda triangle fights back!". The boy was so absorbed in reading that he even opened his mouth, his eyes were full of amazement as he was learning such a stunning truth, apparently hidden from the world public by some evil forces, about the infamous place.  
  
Joe couldn't help but grin, but just then he reminded himself that to stare through ajar doors was not polite, so he took one last glance at the teen and walked further. However he couldn't resist glancing into another room while a smiling woman was holding the door open. Inside was a man in his mid 30s who was byeing with a boy, who looked a lot like him, only much younger, – his son, obviously, and-  
  
"Whoops," Joe had still been walking while looking at the pair and smiling at the touching scene, he hadn't noticed two people coming his way and he'd bumped into them. "Sorry."  
  
"It's alright, young man, never mind," the elderly man gave him a smile and went further, hand in hand with a grey-haired woman.  
  
Joe watched them go until they disappeared in a room at the farthest end of the corridor, a funny thought creeping into his mind. He shook his head to get rid of it. 'You're imagining the unimaginable!' his inner voice told him. But those three people, three men of different ages – the boy, the man, the old man - 'Looking for sings from above that you'll live long and happily, are we? A girlish and silly thing to do!' He shook his head again, "Silly you, indeed," he muttered to himself and went to find his brother.  
  
Frank looked up from the magazine he was reading when Joe came into view, "Already back? You're fast," he said, glancing at his watch. "Don't tell me Chet did – how did you say it back then? – 'dash away from you' when you came in. He didn't shoo you away, did he?"  
  
"You're being nasty, you know?" Joe replied. "No, he didn't, if you want to know, it's just we were interrupted and I had to leave. Now come on, I still want to go home. That shepherd's pie is not so scrumptious when it's cold."  
  
Frank put the magazine aside and rose to his feet, "It's alright between the two of you?" he asked, walking to the elevators with his brother and pushing the 'down' button.  
  
"Definitely," Joe nodded. "Better than ever."  
  
"Why am I not surprised?" Frank said, watching the metallic doors open in front of him. "And what were you talking about?"  
  
"Some things, and there was one that had me thinking," Joe followed his brother into the elevator and pressed '0'. When the doors slid close, he turned to his head to look at him, "Frank? What would you do if you won one lottery with a huge prize that you could get on two conditions?..."  
  
THE END. ----------------------- [1] Original 'Nokia. Connecting people.' ™ 


End file.
